Beast of Beaver Bay
by Disasteriffic Kaz
Summary: A lighthouse on a cliff, mysterious deaths and random fires…nothing is ever easy for a Winchester. Post 6x16 "And then there were none" tagged to previous story "What Evil Lurks" angst/hurt/caring/awesome!sam/dean
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Beast of Beaver Bay

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A lighthouse on a cliff, mysterious deaths and random fires…nothing is ever easy for a Winchester. Post 6x16 "And then there were none" tagged to previous story "What Evil Lurks" angst/hurt/caring/awesome!sam/dean

**Author's note:** This story is tagged to a previous story of mine: "What Evil Lurks". While you _can_ read this without that, I'd recommend going ahead and reading it first. :D

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D – Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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_So close, no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are  
And nothing else matters_

Trust I seek and I find in you  
Every day for us, something new  
Open mind for a different view  
And nothing else matters

_Never cared for what they say  
Never cared for games they play  
Never cared for what they do  
Never cared for what they know  
No, nothing else matters_

_~Nothing else matters, Metallica_

_**CHAPTER 1**_

Dean had a long moment to consider the ways in which he had screwed up this hunt as he flew through the air. He could see Sam grappling with the mutant bear they'd come to kill. Dean had been convinced it was a werewolf, and they'd come out in search of it with handguns and silver bullets. He'd dismissed the witness reports calling it a bear as the usual confused idiots who didn't understand what they were actually looking at. Turned out he was the confused idiot. The silver bullets had barely penetrated its hide and only served to piss it off. He grunted as he crashed through a mass of branches. Leaves rained down on him as he fell, and Dean tried to turn and grab one of the passing limbs to brake his fall. He hit the ground faster than he thought and saw stars as the air was knocked out of him.

"Dean!" Sam groaned, as the bear's strength forced him to his knees. He was only barely holding its powerful jaws from his throat. He saw Dean hit the ground and then lay unmoving. "Dean!" Fear for his brother gave Sam new strength. He dropped to his back and swept the bear's legs with his own, toppling it to the ground. Sam scrambled away from the growling beast and to the weapons bag they had dropped when the bear had ambushed them. He tore it open and pulled out the long knife, slid it from its sheath and threw himself to the side as he heard the growling cough just behind him.

The bear's lethal claws passed through the air inches from his head as Sam rolled and came up on his knees. He studied the beast's chest, deciding on the best place to find its heart and narrowed his eyes as he noticed an unusual burn pattern in its hair near the center of its chest. Sam didn't wait for it to come to him. He lunged forward under the reaching paws and slammed the blade into the mark on its chest, pushing with all his strength. The bear screamed and reared back. One of its arms caught him in the chest and sent him sliding across the ground.

"Crap!" Sam scrambled quickly to his feet and groaned again, realizing he'd left his knife in the bear's chest. It stood on its hind legs, stretched to its length with its head thrown back, and then, finally, it fell over backward into the ground with a heavy thump. Sam inched forward, alert for any twitch or sign of life. He breathed a small sigh when he saw the sightless eyes staring up.

"Dean!" Sam jumped the carcass and ran to where his brother still lay unmoving, sliding to a stop on his knees next to him. "Dean? Speak to me." He took Dean's head in his hands and peered down at him while panic drove his pulse to pound in his ears.

"G'off me." Dean groaned, and opened his eyes to glare up at Sam's concerned face so close to his own.

Sam leaned back slightly and moved his hands to Dean's shoulders instead and smiled. "Scared me."

"That's 'cause…you're a girl." Dean rolled his eyes and let Sam pull him up until he was sitting. He slapped a hand to his back with a moan. "Son of a bitch. That's gonna hurt later."

"Are you alright?" Sam moved around behind him and pulled up the back of his brother's jacket and shirts, ignoring the punch aimed at him. He hissed in a breath. "Bruises are already coming up."

"Knock it off." Dean shoved his hands away and straightened his shirts. "My pride's taken enough of a dent already."

Sam smirked and raised his hands in surrender. "Need a hand up?"

Dean gave him a dirty look and slapped Sam's knee as he stood. "I got it. Is fugly dead?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded and hovered until Dean was standing again. He smiled and went back over to the bear. Sam knelt by its side and leaned over to pull his knife free. It slid out covered in blood and he cleaned it on the bear's hide while looking more closely at the burn pattern. "It's cursed."

"Huh?" Dean brushed twigs and leaves off his clothes and stretched, ignoring the disturbing number of pops and cracks from his back.

"This looks like Vaudun." Sam pointed to the burned hair and looked up. "Someone burned this into him."

"Voodoo? In friggin Connecticut again? Come on." Dean shook his head, thinking of the hotel they had stayed in all those years ago and the bound spirit, creepy doll collection and mother and daughter they'd saved. "This mean we have to go looking for a witch bitch?"

Sam chuckled and stood over the body. "Probably not and that was Hoodoo, not Voodoo. There's a difference."

"You're a nerd. You know that right?" Dean told him with a disgusted look.

Sam smirked and bent back to look at the markings. "This is old and we know this bear's been munching on hikers for several years at least."

Dean hobbled over to their bag and bent to pull out the salt and lighter fluid. He stopped halfway with a loud groan. "Shit!"

"What's wrong?" Sam looked over, stared for a moment and then snorted. "Uh…tell me you're not…stuck like that."

"Shut the hell up, Sammy." Dean managed between clenched teeth. "I am NOT stuck." He was stuck. His back was stubbornly refusing to straighten out again and he growled as he put a hand out to support himself on the nearest tree.

Sam worked hard to smother the laugh and cleared his throat. "Uh, why don't you just…stay there. I'll take care of the bear." He knelt next to Dean and took out the salt and lighter fluid, studiously avoiding looking at his face. He knew it would set him off again.

Dean listened to him move away and peered over his shoulder as Sam dusted the corpse in salt. "Dammit." He dropped his head and tried to use the tree to straighten himself. It didn't work. He heard the whoosh of flames behind him and then Sam was there with a gentle hand on his back and another on his shoulder. "I can do this."

"Stop complaining." Sam chuckled and wrapped his fingers over Dean's shoulder as he pressed his other hand above the small of his back. "Take a breath."

"Dude…no." Dean tried to stand again, grimacing as his back screamed. "No. Seriously, I can…" He broke off on a pained cry as Sam's hand pressed into his back while the other pulled his shoulder and he was forced upright. Only his brother's grip on him kept him standing as stars exploded in his vision and his knees threatened to buckle. "Hate you."

Sam laughed. "No, you don't." He pulled Dean's shirts up again while he was distracted and got a better look at his back. He felt along Dean's spine and smiled. "Nothing out of place. Just some impressive bruising."

"When you're done feeling me up," Dean stepped away and smoothed the pain from his face to glare at Sam, "can we go, please?"

"Yep." Sam picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. "I'm driving."

"Like hell you are," Dean returned and slapped Sam's shoulder. The motion made his back pull and he groaned as he walked.

Sam _was_ driving after getting the keys from Dean's pocket with a minimum of struggle. Dean sat ramrod straight in the passenger seat, planning ways to humiliate him his brother later. He'd refused to lie out in the back like an invalid. He was beginning to regret that decision and made himself resist the urge to squirm. He growled as the car bumped over yet another pothole.

"Are you trying to find every damn crater in the road?" Dean looked over at his brother angrily.

Sam glanced over at him apologetically. "No, Dean. I'm not." He kept his eyes on the road. It was pockmarked with holes, old as it was, and he was having trouble avoiding them. Each time the car jolted filled him with guilt for the pain he was causing his brother. "Five more minutes, we'll be back at the motel."

Dean shook his head and went back to pretending his back wasn't a misery of pain. His phone rang, making him startle and wince. He fished it out of his pocket and flipped it open with a glance at the screen. "Hey, Bobby. Whatcha got?"

"A job for you two idjits if you're up for it." Bobby picked up his whiskey bottle and scowled as it was empty. He set it aside. "Got some very suspicious drownings up in northern Minnesota."

"How suspicious?" Dean slapped Sam's arm and motioned to the glove box.

Sam chuckled and leaned over to open it and pull out the notepad and pen they kept there. "Job?"

Dean nodded and settled the pad on his thigh. "Shoot, Bobby."

"Couple bodies fished out of Lake Superior with teeth marks."

"Aw come on, Bobby. I've seen the catfish up there," Dean said with a laugh. "That's not suspicious."

"Would you shut your hole and lemme finish?" Bobby growled. "How about the three people who drowned on dry land? That suspicious enough to catch your attention?"

"Ok, ok. That's suspicious. Sorry." Dean grimaced and sighed. "So, where we going?"

"Beaver Bay, Minnesota. Specifically, Split Rock Lighthouse." Bobby pulled over the newspaper he'd been looking at earlier. "Last two victims who were drowned on land were the lighthouse keepers."

"Beaver Bay?" Dean asked suggestively and glanced at Sam with a lascivious smirk, unable to let the name slip by without commenting. Sam rolled his eyes with his best "What are you? Twelve?" expression, and Dean could hear Bobby's long-suffering sigh on the other end of the phone. "Ok, ok, we'll check it out. You guys got no sense of humor." Dean scribbled down the information. "Thanks, Bobby."

"I should probably tell ya, I got you a cover." Bobby said smugly and smirked. "Dean and Sam Jennings. Brothers applying for the job of lighthouse keepers."

"Wait, what? Dammit, Bobby…" Dean yelled but was cut off by Bobby's laugh and then the line going dead. "Son of a bitch."

"What? Is something wrong?" Sam asked as he turned in to the motel and parked in front of their room. "What did he say?"

"Oh, you're gonna love this." Dean groaned and got out…or tried to. He managed to get one leg out and was stuck clinging to the door to stay standing. He glared as Sam came around and took his arm and his weight. "Laugh and I will kill you in your sleep."

Sam smiled but wisely didn't laugh. He helped Dean out and let him hobble to the room himself while Sam went to the trunk to get the bags. Dean had the laptop out by the time he got in the room and was already opening a beer with the bottle of painkillers in his other hand. "Here." Dean waved a hand at the laptop and went to his bed. "Look up Beaver Bay, Minnesota."

"Ok." Sam watched him lower himself to the bed and sat in front of the laptop, waiting for it to boot up. "What's in Beaver Bay?"

Dean started to grin again, but then caught sight of Sam's glare and went back to business, Dean quickly filled him in with the information Bobby had given him and then scowled. "Bobby had a bright idea to give us a cover. We're going to be friggin' lighthouse keepers."

"Wait. Lighthouse keepers?" Sam stared in surprise. "Us? What do we know about running a lighthouse?"

"Not a damn thing." Dean leaned back with a groan against the pillows he'd piled up. "Do they still use boilers?"

Sam rolled his eyes and brought up his browser. "We are so screwed."

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Sam woke with a start and blinked into the darkness of the motel room, trying to decide what had woken him. A rustle from the next bed and a soft moan made him sigh. Dean. "You alright?" He asked softly as he sat up, looking at the bright red digits of the alarm clock. It was three in the morning and only four hours since they'd pulled off for the night in Illinois. Dean had insisted on driving and had been hunched over the steering wheel for hours, determined to drive through the whole twenty hours. Sam had put his foot down at their last gas stop and gotten his way.

"M'fine." Dean's exhausted voice came from the nest of blankets.

Sam smirked. "No. You're in pain. Hang on." He climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom, flicking on the light. He looked into the ice bucket and sighed. It had melted while they slept. He dumped it out and headed for the door. "Back in a sec. Need more ice."

"Dude, I'm good." Dean insisted, unwilling to admit just how much pain he was in. It was his job to take care of Sam, not the other way around.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam chuckled and went outside. He danced on his bare feet for a few steps. The sidewalk was freezing and he wished he'd thought to at least pull some socks on as he jogged down to the corner and the laundry room. He pushed the door open and went to the ice machine in the back, shoving the bucket in and hit the button to turn it on. The door opened behind him and he turned, smiling at the man who came in with a duffel bag behind him. "Hey."

"Evenin'."

Sam watched as he went to the row of washing machines and set the duffel on the counter beside them, pulling it open. He turned his attention back to the bucket as the first few ice cubes clattered into it. The thing was slow and he silently urged it to hurry. His feet were turning to ice.

"Hey, man. You got any quarters?"

Sam turned back at the question with a shake of his head. "Sorry. Just got out of bed." He gestured to his t-shirt and sweatpants. "Try the office."

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Dean shifted for the hundredth time, trying to find a comfortable position and groaned. "Ok, Sam. I give. You can come back with the ice any time now." He turned his head to see the clock and frowned. He'd been gone over ten minutes. Warning bells went off in his head. "What the hell?"

Dean rolled carefully to his side and got upright with much grunting, groaning and cursing. "Too old for this shit." He slid his knife out from under his pillow and went to the door, opening it and stepping outside. "Crap." He shivered in the sudden cold and looked up and down the building. There was no sign of his brother. "Dammit, Sammy. You better have fallen asleep on the damn ice machine." He pulled the door shut and headed down the building to the laundry room. He'd seen the ice machine through the windows when they pulled in. He wrapped his arms around himself against the chill and looked in the windows as he reached it. It was empty.

Dean pushed the door open. "Sam?" He looked to the ice machine in the corner and felt a new chill that had nothing to do with the cold; the machine was still running and ice was running over the top of the bucket to scatter across the floor. "Shit." He turned to glare around the parking lot. "Sammy?"

"Dean?"

Dean spun, slapping a hand out to the wall as his back protested and followed Sam's voice around the corner. He took a moment to absorb the scene and let his pounding heart calm. Sam stood with one hand clasped to his shoulder next to a police officer and a third man lay on the ground between them, moaning.

"What the hell's going on?" Dean hastily tucked his knife in the back of his sweatpants and straightened, going to his brother. "You alright?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "This is my brother." He nodded down to the man. "Idiot tried to jump me in the laundry room."

Dean took the hand Sam had wrapped around his shoulder and pried it up. "Looks like he did more than try," Dean growled, his own pain instantly forgotten. There was a tear and blood beneath his hand, and Dean glared down at the would-be mugger with murder in his eyes.

"Hey. I'm ok. It's just a scratch." Sam nudged Dean back a step, concerned that even the officer's presence wouldn't stop his big brother from exacting some revenge. "Do you need anything else, officer?" He asked the cop, and smiled when the man shook his head.

"Naw, you can go." The officer pulled his handcuffs loose. "Pretty sure this is the guy who's assaulted three other people over the last week. I'll take him in as soon as he's completely conscious again." He looked at Sam with a satisfied grin. "Shame he just fell like that."

Sam smirked. "Yeah, it is, isn't it? Thank you. Come on, Dean." He took his brother's arm and turned him. "In the room," He muttered. They rounded the corner and he stopped. "Hang on." Sam dashed into the laundry room and grabbed the over-flowed ice bucket, slapping the machine off as well. He rolled his eyes when he came back out and found Dean still standing there, alert for danger. "Dude, relax."

"Right. Relax." Dean slapped a hand up the back of Sam's head. "When my little brother goes to get ice, at 3 in the morning, no less, and manages to get himself friggin' mugged? Yeah, I'll relax. Get in the damn room already."

Sam scowled at him but stayed silent. He knew Dean's anger wasn't actually directed at him but at the asshole lying on the pavement outside. "Lay down again."

"Forget it. Sit and lemme see that shoulder," Dean ordered. He went to his bag and pulled out the first aid kit.

"It's nothing," Sam argued but found himself being shoved into a chair and rolled his eyes.

"One of these days you're gonna roll those eyes and they're gonna stay in the back of your head." Dean smirked and thumped the kit on the table.

Sam snorted and pulled his shirt off with a stifled hiss of discomfort. "It's really not that bad."

Dean got his first look at the cut and nodded. It was shallow but bleeding profusely. He pressed a pad of gauze to it. "Hold that."

Sam clamped his hand over it. "Came at with me with a lousy pocket knife." He sighed. "He wouldn't have gotten me at all, but I checked the stupid ice bucket." Sam shook his head at his own lapse. "I deserve this."

"Bullshit," Dean said angrily and waved at him to move the gauze. "That stupid son of a bitch deserves to be in a gutter somewhere with my boot print on his face." He carefully taped a bandage over the cut and patted his hand over it, making Sam wince. He smirked. "Although next time you let your guard down like that, I'll kick your ass for you."

Sam chuckled and stood. "Yes, Dean. Can we fix your back now? I'd like to get some sleep tonight."

"Bitch. Bitch. Bitch." Dean flipped him off with a smile and went back to his bed. He crawled onto it, carefully to move his back as little as possible and lay down with a thump and his face in the pillow. He listened to Sam bagging ice and flinched as the first one was set along his spine. A moment later he groaned happily and sank into the mattress as the cold began to soothe the bruising.

Sam propped three bags over where he knew the worst of the bruising was and folded the blanket over Dean's legs. "Night, Dean." He went to his own bed and flopped down on it, nearly asleep before his head hit the pillow.

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_To Be Continued… _


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Beast of Beaver Bay

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A lighthouse on a cliff, mysterious deaths and random fires…nothing is ever easy for a Winchester. Post 6x16 "And then there were none" tagged to previous story "What Evil Lurks" angst/hurt/caring/awesome!sam/dean

**Author's note:** This story will receive updates between chapters of the 3rd Edition of the Reader's Special…as always. Lol I like to think of this as cleansing my palette between prompt heavy chapters.  
Hopefully you'll all enjoy this one as well. :D

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D – Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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"_Bullshit," Dean said angrily and waved at him to move the gauze. "That stupid son of a bitch deserves to be in a gutter somewhere with my boot print on his face." He carefully taped a bandage over the cut and patted his hand over it, making Sam wince. He smirked. "Although next time you let your guard down like that, I'll kick your ass for you."_

_Sam chuckled and stood. "Yes, Dean. Can we fix your back now? I'd like to get some sleep tonight."_

"_Bitch. Bitch. Bitch." Dean flipped him off with a smile and went back to his bed. He crawled onto it, carefully to move his back as little as possible and lay down with a thump and his face in the pillow. He listened to Sam bagging ice and flinched as the first one was set along his spine. A moment later he groaned happily and sank into the mattress as the cold began to soothe the bruising._

_Sam propped three bags over where he knew the worst of the bruising was and folded the blanket over Dean's legs. "Night, Dean." He went to his own bed and flopped down on it, nearly asleep before his head hit the pillow._

_**CHAPTER 2**_

"Please! Please, I'm not crazy! Let me out!" Vera shook the bars of her cell as the officer who'd arrested her looked on with disdain.

"Lady, you were doing a hundred in a thirty at three in the morning." Officer Perkins rolled his eyes. "Whatever you took, you're still tripping. Just get comfy. Doc'll be by in the morning."

"No! No, please!" Vera shouted as he turned his back on her and walked away. The door at the end of the hall closed with finality and she staggered back from the bars. "Oh, God." She wedged the knuckles of one hand in her mouth in an effort to stem her panic. She knew, really, that there was no reason for him to believe her that she had been trying to escape a monster made of seaweed. If she hadn't seen it for herself, she wouldn't believe it.

Vera went to the narrow, barred, window and peered outside. The sheriff's station sat atop a thirty-foot cliff, and she could see Lake Superior below crashing into the rocks. The beam from Split Rock Lighthouse swept out over the sea and then toward the station. She gasped in sheer terror and stumbled back from the window. Something dark had moved in the waters below as the light had touched them.

"Oh, God. Oh, God! Officer! Officer, please!" Her panic renewed, she took the bars of the door and shook them loudly as she yelled for him. "Come back! Please come back!"

Vera froze with her hands clasped around the bars, her knuckles turning white from the strain. A wet, squishing sound came from behind her. She couldn't look. She tried to convince herself to turn around and face it, but she couldn't. She was paralyzed. Water dripped. The sound drew closer.

"HELP ME!" Vera screamed out through the bars.

Officer Perkins sat at his desk, the only officer on duty for that time of night and rolled his eyes as his prisoner started up a new round of shouting. She was an idiot for getting high on whatever it was she was flying on, and he wasn't going to show her any sympathy for it. She screamed for him again and then finally, mercifully, she went silent.

"Thank God." The officer sighed and leaned back to his desk to concentrate on his paperwork in the silence.

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"Doesn't look like much of a town," Dean commented as they came over the tall span of a bridge and into Beaver Bay. It was just approaching lunchtime, and the noon sun was obscured by snow-heavy clouds, though little but a light dusting had yet fallen. The buildings and houses were unassuming, the town hall and the general store the only buildings of any real height, but the lighthouse could be seen over the trees in the distance rising up against the grey sky.

"From what I read, the beaches further up the coast past the cliffs are where the money is." Sam gestured in the general direction. "Big houses, some restaurants, and a big lodge."

"So what you're saying is we _could_ have gotten a nice room at the cozy lodge, but instead…" Dean paused to glare up at the lighthouse as they drove through town and got closer. "We're gonna be spending our nights in some drafty ass tower on the lake."

Sam smirked. "On a cliff, on the lake. I Googled it. You're going to want to stay off the lantern gallery."

"You mean the 'only insane people stand out here for the damn view' gallery thing outside the lamp room?" Dean raised his brows and looked over at him. "Oh, you bet your ass I'm staying off it."

Sam laughed and shook his head. "So I'll be doing all the windows then." He gave a sidelong glance to his brother. "Chicken."

"Keep it up," Dean warned. "You'll find yourself hanging off the damn thing some morning."

Sam snorted a laugh. "You'd have to go out there first." He yelped when Dean's hand slapped into his shoulder and the cut from the night before.

Dean chuckled and grinned when Sam shot him a bitch-face. "Don't mess with the best."

"Oh, good grief." Sam rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the lighthouse now rising steadily in front of them as they left the town proper and travelled down a tree-lined road toward the coast. It wasn't exactly lonely, being only minutes from the actual town, but the forest between them made it seem more remote than it was.

Dean pulled up and parked at the base of the tall building behind a virulent orange station wagon. "Man, who even volunteers to drive those things?"

"You're such a car snob," Sam replied on a laugh and got out. He looked up to the top of the lighthouse and smiled. It actually wasn't as tall as most lighthouses he'd seen, but he supposed, sitting atop a cliff as it did, it didn't need to be that tall.

"Whoa. Midget alert, Sammy," Dean said with a smirk and nodded to where a little person had just come out of the large building attached to the back of the lighthouse. He was maybe four feet tall with a thatch of dark, shaggy hair and wire rim glasses perched high on his nose.

"Behave," Sam said and hoped his brother wasn't going to get them in trouble with his misplaced humor.

"Hello there! Can I help you?" The man strolled over and peered up at them with a smile.

"Yes. I'm Sam Jennings. This is my brother Dean." Sam smiled and held a hand down, shaking the one the man held out. "We're here about the keeper job?"

"Oh, yes! Lieutenant Singer called me last night. I'm Jonas. Nice to meet you! Come on inside." Jonas waved an arm and started back toward the lighthouse.

"Lieutenant?" Dean mouthed at Sam and got a shrug in response. He snorted, amused.

"It's refreshing to know the Coast Guard pays attention to things like this." Jonas said amiably and opened the door into the house, waving them in. "I hadn't even had a chance to notify them yet when he called."

"Well, that's our lieutenant." Dean rolled his eyes as he followed Jonas inside. "Always on top of things like this. So, the last keepers, they die here?"

"Oh, my, yes." Jonas sighed sadly and shook his head. "I still can't believe it. And drowned, the police said." He scoffed lightly. "Which is ridiculous. How do you drown in a lighthouse a hundred and fifty feet above the water?"

"Yeah, I wonder." Dean looked around the cozy interior of the spacious keeper's house. It wouldn't be a bad place to spend a few days while they figured this out. The living room was warmly furnished in dark browns with blankets and furs piled here and there. The kitchen, though small, was well stocked, and Dean grinned as he caught sight of a pie in the refrigerator before Jonas closed it.

"There's only the one furnished bedroom at the moment." Jonas smiled in apology. "The Fosters were, of course, married and trying to have a baby." He led them down a hall and pushed a door open to reveal a nursery. He wiped a hand over his eyes. "Such a tragedy."

Dean looked in at the white crib and angels that danced across the light green walls and sighed. It reminded him of another nursery, and he studiously did not look at his little brother. He stepped back as Jonas pulled the door closed and bumped into Sam. He glanced up and saw the look of sadness on his face mirroring his own.

"The bedroom is at the end of the hall. Now, the other building…" Jonas went to a small door in the hall and pushed it open to point to a smaller, brick building some twenty feet away. "That's the foghorn. It's controlled from the lantern room or from in there, but you shouldn't have to worry about it. It has sensors up here and down near the water." Jonas smiled and pulled the door shut. "Runs itself more or less."

Jonas took them through the rest of the house and into the base of the tower, pointing out features and things they would have to take care of. "Your direct link to the Coast Guard and weather service." He patted a hand atop a monitor and radio system and then pulled open the interior door to the spiral stairs leading straight up. He drew the line at actually climbing the tower and pointed to his own legs with a smirk. "Only way I get up there is with an elevator."

Dean snorted and took the slap Sam aimed at his head with a grin. "So, anything else we need to know?"

"I think you'll be fine." Jonas smiled up at them and shook both their hands. "Oh! The wood pile is in a the store room with the foghorn to keep it dry. You'll be needing a good fire this time of year. Well, you boys take care; and if you need anything, my card is on the fridge."

"Makes an impression for such a little guy," Dean commented as they watched Jonas walk out to his ugly station wagon, climb up into it and drive away. "How's he even see over the wheel?" He shook his head and clapped his hands. "Phone books on the seat!"

"You're ridiculous, you know that?" Sam rolled his eyes and slapped Dean's arm. "Go find the coffee or something. I'll get our bags."

Dean scowled but let Sam go and headed for the kitchen. He arched his still-aching back and decided making coffee was more up his alley anyway. He was dumping water into the coffee machine's reservoir when Sam came back in. "We need to go talk to the police. Need more info on the deaths," Dean said over his shoulder. He hit the power button and grinned in success as it whirred to life.

"Sherriff's station is only about ten minutes from here, I think." Sam had studied a map of the town on their way in. "Sits on the cliff too, though not as high as us. We should suit up."

"Can't." Dean turned from the coffee maker and started opening cabinets looking for mugs. "This is a small town, Sam. You really think no one's gonna notice the new keepers walking around in suits claiming to be feds?" He chuckled. "We'll get busted in no time."

"So what then? Family of a victim?" Sam asked and looked in the cabinet next to him. "Got them." He pulled out two mugs and, smirking, handed one to Dean. "I think one of the former keepers had a thing for collecting."

"Collecting what?" Dean took the mug and then looked at it. Fuzzy, adorable baby penguins danced around the sides of the mug. "Oh, hell no." He went over to the cabinet Sam held open and groaned. Every piece of dishware boasted baby penguins. "I do not get people."

Sam laughed and closed the cupboard. He looked over at the computer in surprise as it rang with some sort of alarm. "That doesn't sound good." He went and sat in front of the system as the monitor glowed to life.

"What's going on?" Dean poured coffee into the ridiculously cute mugs and looked over Sam's shoulder.

"Snowstorm." Sam watched the radar-generated map on part of the screen and read the text message below it. "It's a squall moving in from Canada."

"Awesome." Dean set his coffee back on the counter. "We need to get going then, get to the Sherriff's office and back before it hits."

Sam stood and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Uh, you go. I have to stay." He raised a hand when Dean stared at him. "Dude, we're the lighthouse keepers and there's a storm coming in. Someone has to man the light."

"Oh, for cryin'…" Dean rolled his eyes and groaned. "Next chance I get, I'm taking all Bobby's baseball caps and he can play scavenger hunt in the damn junkyard for a week finding 'em."

Sam laughed and clapped a hand to his shoulder. "Sherriff's office is due east along the cliff. You've got an hour or so until the storm hits." He raised a brow. "Unless you want to stay and go up to keep an eye on the light."

"Not in this lifetime." Dean glared at him and then smiled, waving as he backed away. "Have fun in the crow's nest."

"Lamp room, dumbass." Sam shook his head with a chuckle as Dean left with a parting, shouted 'Geek!' on his way out the door. He went to the tower and started up the stairs. He decided light house stairs were not designed with someone of his height in mind as he had to hunch to avoid knocking his head on the treads above him.

On the second floor he found a small kitchen that he supposed was used for whoever was manning the lamp room at night. It was Spartan with a coffee maker, a French press which made him chuckle thinking of Dean trying to use it, a desk, a chair, a table, and a small cot. He headed up to the next floor, just below the lamp room and nodded. It was a supply room filled with boxes of spare parts, glass panels for the room above, and cleaning supplies. The wall next to the door was covered with a map of the lighthouse and cliffs below. He moved closer, studying the map and realized there was a stair cut into the cliff itself leading below to the sensors for the foghorn. Sam closed the door and jogged up the remaining stairs into the lamp room, then took a moment to just look at the view it afforded him. It was stunning.

Lake Superior stretched out to the horizon, a steely grey from the clouds above it and the freezing fog moving in across it. Sam strode to the door in the glass wall and went out on the platform that ringed the lamp room. The wind whipped around the lighthouse, its frigid touch numbing his face as he put his hands on the rail. He shivered at the touch of the cold metal and leaned over to look down at the lake below.

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Dean sat impatiently in a chair in the Sherriff's station waiting to be seen. He wished he could have come in as FBI and bulled his way to the information they wanted, it would have saved time. His attention however was focused on a door at the far side of the squad room. It was the door leading to the temporary jail cells and yellow crime scene tape was stretched across it. He turned his head to try and hear the conversation going on a few desks away from him between two officers. He frowned as he caught snippets of it consisting of things like 'locked cell', 'has to be suicide' and 'drowned in her cell'.

"Dammit," Dean groaned softly. It sounded like a prisoner had become the next victim of their creature.

"Mr. Jennings?"

"That's me." Dean stood and smiled at the detective who suddenly stood in front of him.

"Detective Bollard." The detective shook Dean's hand and waved to a desk nearby. "You have questions about the Fosters' deaths. Can I ask how you knew them?"

Dean sat and shrugged. "Lighthouse keepers. It's a small world." He gave a sad smile. "We were told they drowned, but I figure that can't be right." He rolled his eyes. "I mean, come on, they were in the lighthouse. They didn't drown. So how did they die, really?"

"Why so curious?" Detective Bollard leaned back and studied the man in his chair. There was more to him than he was giving away, but he couldn't decide if Dean Jennings hit his criminal radar or not.

"My little brother." Dean sighed sadly. "He's real choked up over the whole thing, and now we're in the same place they died. He just wants to know what really happened." He smirked. "Guy's a real softie and pain in my ass." Dean rather enjoyed being honest for once, to a point, and it seemed to work as the detective now sported a smirk of his own.

"Ahh. Little brothers. That I understand." Bollard shook his head, amused. "I have two." He leaned forward and eyed Dean. "I can't tell you much, you understand, but the coroner's report was accurate. Lynn and Gerald Foster died of drowning." He shrugged at the surprised look on Dean's face. "He's not sure how exactly yet, but it was water in their lungs that killed them."

"Ok, that is friggin' bizarre." Dean worked to look shocked and rubbed a hand over his face. "That is not gonna calm him down. He's been reading these weird news reports from here lately." He fixed the detective with his own stare. "People drowning on dry land." Dean gave a measure of respect to the detective whose facial expression didn't change. "Not to mention, I just overheard those two over there talking about someone drowning right here in the station."

Bollard sent an angry look at the two officers still gossiping by the coffee maker and made a mental note to give them a verbal beating later. He put a smile on his face in the meantime for Dean. "Coincidence. I don't know why several people in the same town would choose to commit suicide by drowning themselves, but it happens. And the death here last night?" He shrugged. "She'd taken some sort of drug and was raving according to her arresting officer. It's regrettable that she was able to take her own life in our care, but hardly strange."

"Raving about what?" Dean's interest was truly piqued now, but the detective's interest in sharing information had reached an end.

"I am sorry about your friends, the Fosters." Detective Bollard rose and waited for Dean to stand as well. "Once we have a conclusive cause of death, I'll be sure to let you know. You and your brother be careful out there at the lighthouse."

"Right," Dean nodded and left, knowing he wasn't going to get anything more. He could feel the detective's eyes watching him as he stepped outside and decided they'd have to be careful to stay off his radar. He looked around the little town and spotted a diner down the street with a 'homemade pies' sign in the window and grinned. "Maybe I'll just grab dinner on my way back." The first, fat snowflakes were beginning to fall as he went to the car and slid behind the wheel.

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Sam peered down at the water and rocks far below and felt a little dizzy. He chuckled. Dean wouldn't last five minutes out there. He jumped as the foghorn blew suddenly and startled him badly.

"Wow." Sam laughed at himself and backed away from the railing and went back into the lamp room. He wrapped his arms around himself against the cold and studied the panels on the back wall facing land until he found the one he wanted. He flipped the handle up and the lamp glowed to life behind him. He watched it begin to rotate and the beam of light stretching out through the coming gloom and smiled. "Cool." He decided this wouldn't be so rough after all. Modern technology made the lighthouse almost completely automated from what he could tell. He and Dean would only need to maintain it, barring anything breaking down.

A loud, long beeping sound carried up to him from the stairs and Sam frowned. "What the hell is that?" He left the lamp room and took the stairs back down as fast as he dared. As he neared the first floor and the keeper's quarters, he began to smell smoke and ran faster. Sam pushed open the door to the little house and coughed as smoke drifted in.

"Shit!" Sam cursed and followed the thickening smoke into the kitchen. He ducked to get below it and saw flames on the counter, licking up the wall. The coffee maker was engulfed. "Holy crap!" He went frantically through the kitchen and finally spotted what he was looking for; a fire extinguisher was hanging on the wall next to the stove. Sam ripped it loose and turned it on the coffee maker, covering it in foam until the flames vanished. He opened the kitchen window and then the side door leading outside and shivered as the wintry, now snow-laden air swirled in to shift the smoke.

Another bout of coughing sent him staggering outside with watery eyes to escape into clearer air. He looked back at the door and the smoke billowing out and groaned. "Dean's gonna freak." He tucked his arms around his chest again against the cold and blinked heavy snowflakes out of his eyes as he backed away from the smoke to the railing at the edge of the platform. Sam turned to look out at the lake again and an odd sound caught his attention just before the foghorn sounded again and deafened him.

"Shit! That is loud!" Sam clapped his hands over his ears until it stopped. He went nearer the railing and looked down. He'd heard the sound coming from below, like some sort of strange animal call. He saw the rocks far below and squinted. Something was moving near the bottom of the cliff. "What the hell?" His nerves tingled and he knew he was looking at something that didn't belong in the lake.

Sam remembered the map he'd seen below the lamp room and went around the front of the lighthouse, between it and the cliff. He tugged his jacket more tightly around him against the wind and smiled as he found the beginning of the narrow stair and pulled the pistol from the back of his jeans. He wasn't fond of the idea of using the stone stairs in the snow, but he needed a closer look, and they should take him more than halfway to the bottom. "Ok." Sam started down them, grateful for the iron railing embedded into the cliff wall. He kept his left hand firmly wrapped around it as he descended and concentrated on not slipping on the steep stone treads. The foghorn sounded again, but, thankfully, being below it, the cliff seemed to muffle the sound slightly from him. Sam squinted out across the lake and saw heavier snow coming like a wall. He had maybe a half an hour to get down and back up before the stairs became truly slick.

The stairs cut back on themselves at several points, and Sam tried to keep an eye on the lake below as it crashed against the cliff. The closer he got, the more he was able to hear it as a dull roar, but he saw no further sign of the dark shape he'd come after. Fifteen freezing minutes later he reached the bottom of the stairs and a small cave cut into the side of the cliff. Inside were four small devices he knew to be the fog sensors. He turned instead and leaned over the rail to look down. He was maybe thirty feet up from the lake. Large rocks dotted the water below and were becoming hard to see as the fog thickened.

"Damn." Sam fumbled numb fingers in his pocket for his cell phone, realizing he should let Dean know what he was doing before he came back and found him missing with the door hanging open and the remains of a fire. He punched the speed dial and listened to it ring until his brother picked up with a gruff "What?"

"Hey, Dean. So, there was a little problem with the coffee maker," Sam started and wiped snow off his face. He turned his back to the lake to keep it from blinding him as the wind drove it in to the cliff. "Just a little fire. It's out."

"A fire? The damn thing was on fire?" Dean yelled. "Are you ok?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dean. I'm fine. I'm down the side of the cliff. I thought I saw something moving down here, but…"

"You're where?" Dean shouted and pressed the gas harder. He had a sudden, overwhelming need to beat his little brother. "How the hell are you down the cliff?"

"Chill, dude. There's a stair cut into the cliff in front of the lighthouse." Sam chuckled at Dean's obvious fear-driven anger, even knowing he'd pay for it later.

"And you just thought you'd take a little stroll on your own without waiting for me?" Dean growled into the phone and turned down the road to the lighthouse. "I'm almost there, and you and me are gonna have a little discussion."

"Well, there's nothing down here anyway," Sam told him firmly. "Except the fog sensors which, by the way, watch your ears. That foghorn is loud as…"

"Loud as what? Sam?" Dean heard him gasp and something that sounded like a scuffle. "Sam?"

"Dean!" Sam shouted as his feet were pulled from under him. His phone flew out of his hand to clatter into the little cave as he slapped into the stone. Sam rolled, hearing his brother's rising panic through the phone and tried to see what had hold of him. Seaweed wrapped around his foot. He kicked to try and free it, and gasped in shock as it tightened and gave a mighty yank. Sam tried to catch the bar of the railing as he was dragged past, but his numb fingers slipped over the snow-wet, cold metal. Dean was going to kill him, he thought, as he popped out into open air and began to fall toward the lake below.

Dean's tinny voice followed him down. "Sammy!"

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To Be Continued…


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Beast of Beaver Bay

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A lighthouse on a cliff, mysterious deaths and random fires…nothing is ever easy for a Winchester. Post 6x16 "And then there were none" tagged to previous story "What Evil Lurks" angst/hurt/caring/awesome!sam/dean

**Author's note:** Watching the prompts pile up for the next chapter of the Reader's Special and enjoying myself playing here in the meanwhile. :D

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D – Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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"_Well there's nothing down here anyway," Sam told him firmly. "Except the fog sensors which, by the way, watch your ears. That foghorn is loud as…"_

"_Loud as what? Sam?" Dean heard him gasp and something that sounded like a scuffle. "Sam?"_

"_Dean!" Sam shouted as his feet were pulled from under him. His phone flew out of his hand to clatter into the little cave as he slapped into the stone. Sam rolled, hearing his brother's rising panic through the phone and tried to see what had hold of him. Seaweed wrapped around his foot. He kicked to try and free it and gasped in shock as it tightened and gave a mighty yank. Sam tried to catch the bar of the railing as he was dragged past but his numb fingers slipped over the snow-wet, cold metal. Dean was going to kill him, he thought, as he popped out into open air and began to fall toward the lake below._

_Dean's tinny voice followed him down. "Sammy!"_

_**CHAPTER 3**_

Sam tumbled through the air and sucked in a breath a second before he hit the water. The cold and the impact shocked him enough that the breath was forced out of him in a cloud of bubbles as he sank. He choked back the panic he felt threatening to overwhelm him and kicked hard for the surface, fighting the urge to gasp in another breath. The frigid water numbed his muscles as he swam. As he began to wonder if he would ever reach it, his arms left the water, emerging into the icy air, and then his head broke the surface. Sam wheezed and gasped for much needed air, coughing and sputtering as a wave washed over his face.

He had gotten very lucky and landed in the middle of a scattering of rocks. A little to the left or the right, and it would have been over for him, permanently this time, he suspected. The cliff seemed impossibly tall beside him, and a kernel of hopelessness lodged itself in his mind. He knew, from his study of the area, that it was nearly a quarter mile to the nearest shore access. Sam turned in the water in the direction he knew it to be but could see nothing except the blowing snow.

Sam shook his head. "No," He gasped and started swimming. "I'm n-not gonna…d-die out h-here." His teeth chattered hard as hypothermia moved through him and sapped more of his energy. He kept swimming, knowing that Dean would be looking for him. Dean would come for him and he was determined to make sure his brother didn't find a corpse.

"S-swim," Sam ordered himself and kept moving, forcing his arms and legs to keep moving as his body rode the waves up and down while the current tried to force him in toward the cliff. Dean had almost been back, he reminded himself. Once he realized Sam had fallen, he would head straight for the nearest beach and a boat. Sam knew that. He only had to hold on; keep swimming. His head dipped below the water and he came back up sputtering. The falling snow had thickened and clung to his hair and face, obscuring his vision. Worst of all, he was becoming sleepy as his body tried to shake itself apart while he swam. He could feel the lassitude creeping through him…

Sam jolted in shock as his head bumped in to something hard. He opened snow-crusted eyes, expecting to see a rock and instead found himself next to a small wooden boat, bobbing on the surface. "H-hello?" Sam called. His voice was hoarse and he spat more water as he reached nerveless hands up to grasp the side. He called on strength he didn't know he had left to pull himself up the side. The little boat was empty. He reasoned it must have come loose from its mooring somewhere nearby. Sam kicked his legs and managed to roll over the side and into the bottom. He just lay there for a minute gasping and coughing while the snow fell and covered him. Finally, he found the energy to move again and sat up. A single oar lay across the bottom and he grabbed it up, having to hold it in both hands just to keep his grip.

Sam put oar to water and started moving the dinghy toward where he knew the shore to be, or at least he hoped he was heading in the right direction. He had no sense of time in the boat. Snow and fog obscured everything beyond the water around him, and he didn't know how long he had been rowing in a daze when he glanced up and saw the shore.

Sam gasped in relief and rowed harder, switching the oar back and forth from each side of the boat. His only thought was to reach the narrow strip of beach at the base of the cliff. Dean could find him there. He just had to reach it. The tide helped, pushing the boat closer with each wave. He was only twenty feet away when the boat lurched to a stop.

The sudden lack of movement jolted him out of the fog he had slipped into, and he looked around, confused. He paddled harder, but the boat remained still and fear rolled through him again. It wasn't possible. Waves swept over the side, and the boat remained still. The wind pushed and shoved at him with icy fingers, and the boat didn't move. Then Sam cried out in surprise as he felt the bottom of the little dinghy begin to move as if alive.

"Wha'?" Sam dropped the oar and gripped the edges of the boat, pushing as they curled in on him. The hard wood became soft, pliant beneath his hands. Brown turned to green, becoming darker as he watched, and seaweed seemed to course over its surface until it was all that was left. He was sinking. The seaweed began to wrap around him and pull him under. The water hurt his already numbed skin as it found him again. He fought the pull of the seaweed, kicking and tearing at it in an effort to keep his head above water, but he was losing. His cold-addled mind began sifting through all the research he had done, all the information on creatures of the water he had ever read; and as the waves came up to cover his face he realized what it was. Sam knew what creature they were hunting and that was now pulling him to his death.

The knowledge gave him renewed purpose and anger lent power to his limbs. Sam tore furiously at the tendrils of slimy plant wrapping him and kicked hard. His head broke the surface once more, his face bare to the falling snow. Sam sucked in a deep breath and screamed.

"NOKKEN!"

He hoped he was right. Sam prayed he was right. It was his only chance. The seaweed wrapping him up suddenly convulsed. He sank again and caught a brief glimpse of glowing, yellow eyes beneath him before he swam up and found air again. The Nokken fled into the lake with a gurgled scream and Sam gasped. He had been right. The Nokken was an ancient creature of the water, and the speaking of its name forced it to retreat.

Sam began swimming again for the shore that was so close, but his strength was fading and almost gone. He was so bone-deep cold he couldn't feel his hands and feet. The water and the snow took the last of his energy, and as his head slipped beneath the water again, he didn't have anything left to swim back up again. His last thought as the water closed over him was, "I'm sorry, Dean. I tried."

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Dean sped into the drive, skidding to a stop outside the lighthouse and tore from the car at a dead run for the wall of the cliff. "Sam!" Dean shouted as he ran up the stairs between the lighthouse and the foghorn shack. He slid to a stop at the railing and looked over the side. Snow and fog were beginning to obscure everything below but he could see the small landing where Sam must have been standing while speaking to him. He scoured every inch with his eyes but saw no sign of him.

"SAM!" Dean screamed above the wind. He ran to the right and found the beginning of the stairs. Dean grabbed the rail inset in the rock and ran down them. He slipped and slid, barely stopping himself once from careening over the side into the lake below on the snow slick steps. He knew he should have slowed down but panic made him go faster. He couldn't lose Sam; not like this, not so soon after Rufus. Sam had to be alright. He was not going to fail him again.

Dean reached the little cave and peered desperately around it. There was no sign of him. He caught sight of something on the floor and bent, coming up with his brother's phone. "Sam, dammit where are you?" A dark dread swept through him. Dean turned to the rail at the edge of the cave and stared. On the rock at its base, snow slowly beginning to cover them, were clear drag marks leading off the edge.

"Oh, my God." He ran to the rail and leaned out as far as he could. "SAMMY!" Dean shouted and stared down at the water below. "No, no, no." His brain was stuck on those three words in an endless loop, making it almost impossible to breathe, much less think clearly. It was a monumental test of will that kept him from throwing himself over the edge after his brother. He needed to be smarter. He needed to think. Dean spun and started back up the stairs at a run. He went to his knees on the slick stone more than once but kept his grip on the rail. His mind couldn't stop from seeing his brother fall. Sam was falling. That thought rattled back and forth through his head, and the memory of seeing him jump and fall in Stull cemetery was still too fresh. Now that he had all of Sam back, he was not going to lose him again.

Dean reached the top of the stairs panting for breath. He ignored the burning stitch in his side and sprinted around the lighthouse and back to the Impala. He spun the wheels, kicking up gravel as he turned back into town. He sped down the road through the trees and tried to remember where the damn cliffs gave way to beach. Dean spotted a police cruiser on the side of the road and the officer that went with it. He slammed the brakes and jumped out of the car.

Dean grabbed the front of the officer's jacket, desperation making him reckless. "Where's the nearest beach access?"

"Hey! You need to calm down!" The officer shoved ineffectually at the man's hands and considered going for his gun.

"I don't have time for you, dammit. Where is it?" Dean shouted and gave him a shake. "Beach access! WHERE?" He roared. The cop's hand inched toward his gun and Dean slapped it away. "I swear I will shoot you with your own damn gun if you don't tell me where to get to the water NOW!"

"Alright! Alright! It's…it's a half mile that way!" He waved a hand over his shoulder and quailed away from the raw anger and fear on the man's face. "Left at the light and follow the signs."

Dean released him so quickly the officer stumbled back into his cruiser. He ignored the yell for him to freeze and got back in the Impala, screeching away down the road as the cop scrambled into his own car. He ran the red light, turning left and saw the first sign for the beach access. Dean ignored the siren that blared up behind him and sped on. They could arrest him later.

"Hang on, Sammy," Dean muttered as he turned hard into a small parking lot, letting the back end of the Impala skid out and land parked alongside the entrance sign. He slammed out of the car and ran around to a set of wood stairs framed by trees. He ran down them alongside the cliff wall, fifteen feet or so above the lake, and kept his eyes trained on the water through the snow. He skidded to a stop and squinted out into the water. There was something that looked like a small boat near the shore. As he watched he saw a shadowy figure rise up and heard a muffled cry carry to him on the wind. The voice spurred him back into motion in a panic.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted as he pelted down the last ten feet of stairs and onto the rocky shore. He wiped snow out of his eyes and lost sight of the boat. "Sam?" He stumbled to a stop at the edge of the water and looked for him. His heart pounded in his ears as he looked for some sign of him, then he saw it; Sam's head bobbed up out of the water a mere twenty feet away and then slipped under again. "NO!"

Dean stripped off his jacket and tossed it on the beach. He wrenched off his shoes and then splashed into the freezing water before diving out toward where he'd last seen his brother. The water was a shock as it closed over Dean's head, giving him the urge to breathe in reflexively. He fought it and swam out with his eyes open. The lake looked steely grey above but below it was green and dark, shadows against shadows as he frantically swam and searched. A shadow drifted in front of him, arms waving and Dean latched on to it, knowing instinctively that it was his brother. He pulled Sam to him and kicked for the surface.

"Sam? Sam!" Dean rolled him to his back and slid an arm around his chest to keep his head above the water. Sam coughed water up in a geyser and Dean went weak with relief. "That's it, Sam. Just keep breathing. I got you." He pulled hard with his free arm for the shore and staggered to his feet as he felt the lake bottom beneath them.

"Oh, holy shit on a shingle!"

Dean's head jerked up at the unfamiliar voice and he groaned. The officer he'd manhandled for information stood on the shore staring, slack-jawed. "Hey! How about some help here!"

The officer waded into the water, wincing as the cold bit into his legs. "Geez, that's cold!" He pulled one of the drowned man's arms over his shoulders and pulled him up to dry land, letting the other man ease him to the ground. "I'm gonna call for help."

"You do that." Dean dismissed him and bent instead to his far too wet, too cold, and not shivering little brother. He took Sam's head between his hands and hissed at the cold, clammy feel of the skin. Dean glanced up, saw his jacket, and stretched to snag it with his fingers. He pulled it to them and spread it over Sam's chest to try and warm him and then bent to his head again. "Sammy?" He gently pushed away the strands of dark hair stuck to his face and tried again. "Sam! Come on man."

Sam was confused. He should be drowning. He expected to feel himself sinking and icy water flowing into his lungs. Instead he felt sand and rocks beneath him, frigid air flowing in and out of his lungs and warm hands on his face. He cracked his eyes open and frowned as he saw his brother's face above him.

"Dean?" Sam whispered. The effort of speech set him coughing and he felt himself lifted.

"Geez, Sammy," Dean said softly and pulled Sam up to rest against his chest while he coughed up lake water. He rubbed his hands briskly up and down Sam's arms to encourage circulation.

"There's a bus on the way." The officer knelt beside the two men and shook his head. "He's lucky to be alive." He quickly undid his own heavy coat, pulled it off and spread it over the young man's legs. "Don't move him too much. Cold blood in his legs and arms reaches his heart, he's done for."

"He's my brother." Dean tucked his own jacket more closely around Sam and shivered as the wintry wind and snow ate into his own wet clothes.

Sirens sounded from above them and the officer smiled. "He'll be fine. I'm Officer Travers by the way."

Dean nodded. "Sorry about manhandling you before."

Travers snorted. "Did you? I don't recall."

Dean looked up in surprise and then smiled. "Thanks, man."

"Don't mention it." Travers shrugged. "How'd he end up in the water anyway?"

"I dunno." Dean shook his head. "I was heading back to the lighthouse, talking to him on the phone…" Dean broke off and shuddered. He had come far too close to losing him. "He was checking the, uh…fog sensors or something."

"You're the new keepers. Right." Travers nodded. "He must have slipped and gone over. The Fosters were trying for years to get the ledge down the cliff made safer, and in this crap, I'm not surprised he slipped." He motioned to the snow and then stood as the paramedics appeared, jogging down the stairs. "Hey, over here!"

Dean squeezed Sam more securely, listening to him rattle breaths in and out. "Gonna kick your ass later, little brother," He told Sam fiercely. "When you won't break."

"N-not b-broken now," Sam managed quietly as his teeth began to chatter again. He smiled, feeling Dean's chuckle through his back and felt like his face would crack.

Dean was forced away from his brother with a growl as the paramedics pushed him aside and took over. He barely stopped the snarl as Officer Travers took his arm and tugged him back another step.

"Let them do their jobs." Travers said with sympathy. He bent and recovered the man's jacket from his brother once the paramedics had covered him with warming blankets. "Put this back on."

Dean took it and shot his arms into the sleeves. "Dean," He told Travers and nodded down. "That's Sam."

"They'll take good care of him, Dean." Travers reassured him. He realized with a shock that Dean was standing on the snow covered ground barefoot, well in one sock. The other must have come off in the water. "Good grief, man. Where are your shoes?"

"Huh? Oh." Dean looked around and spotted them a few feet away. He went and dropped to sit on the ground, never taking his eyes from Sam as he tugged his shoes onto feet that were blocks of ice.

"This one's gonna need warming up too."

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes as Travers ratted him out, and, sure enough, a moment later, one of the medics came over and draped a blanket over his shoulders. "You can come up with us. I assume you want to ride with him?"

Dean nodded. He could pick up the car later. Staying with Sam was more important. "Couldn't stop me." He fell in step behind them as they loaded Sam on a gurney and picked it up to carry him back up to the top of the cliff.

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Dean stretched in the uncomfortable chair beside his brother's bed and groaned. Four hours was a long time to watch your mostly blue little brother slowly warm back to life beneath an electric blanket and warm saline through IVs in his arms.

"You ready to wake up yet?" Dean asked as he leaned over his head and sighed as Sam just kept fogging the mask over his face in the lazy rhythm of deep sleep. He straightened and pulled at the scrubs the hospital had given him in place of his water-logged clothes. "These things are scratchy as hell, dude. You wake up, we can get the hell outta here and back to the drafty ass lighthouse."

"He's doing well." The doctor observed as he stepped in the room and smiled at Dean. "Temperature's almost back to normal and no signs of frostbite." He nodded to Dean's feet. "You got off lucky there yourself."

Dean's toes had been a translucent white by the time they'd reached the hospital. The hour he'd spent with his toes in a bucket of lukewarm water had been agony as the circulation returned. He wiggled them now in his borrowed socks and smiled back at him. "You sure he's gonna be alright, doc?"

The doctor chuckled, nodded, and raised his right hand. "Scout's honor. Why don't you get some coffee or a change of clothes? He's not going anywhere."

Dean looked down at his sleeping brother and rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension there. "Yeah, ok. I could use a coffee." He tugged at the scrubs as he headed for the door with the doctor. "Do these make my ass look big?" He grinned as the doctor laughed and waved as he turned the other way down the hall and headed for the canteen.

Dean smiled cheekily at each nurse he passed and decided Beaver Bay definitely had a few things going for it and reminded himself to point out to Sam later that the name fit the place. That would make him groan for sure. He chuckled to himself and then sniffed deeply. The smell of coffee brewing led him down the hall and around the corner.

"Oh, baby," Dean went to the row of thermal carafes along the wall by the door and inhaled deeply. He found the largest cup he could and filled it with the darkest coffee available and spent a minute just savoring his first sip. "Now I feel warm." He muttered appreciatively and slapped a lid on the cup. Dean headed back out and around to the other side of the building where his brother's room waited. He walked with the cup under his nose, sniffing happily like an addict.

Dean sniffed his coffee again and frowned as a new scent came to him over the coffee as he neared Sam's room. Adrenaline flooded through him; it was smoke. He dropped the coffee to splatter on the floor and ran, sliding to a stop with a thump in the door.

"Help! Someone get a damn fire extinguisher!" Dean shouted and ran to the bed. The far corner of the foot of the bed was burning. Flames crackled up from the blanket and were spreading quickly. "Shit!" Dean grabbed the blanket and ripped it off the bed, throwing it into the corner. "Sam? Sam!" He pulled the sheet up from the end of the bed, seeing it was singed and smoldering as well. He looked over his shoulder as an orderly ran into the room with an extinguisher and went immediately to the fire in the corner, spraying it with foam.

"Oh, my God." The doctor ran into the room, shock on his face as he stared for a moment. He shook off the paralysis and went to his patient. "Is he burned? Did it burn him?"

"No. I don't think so." Dean moved to let the doctor at his brother's legs and instead grabbed hold of Sam's arm as he moaned softly. "Sammy?"

"He's alright. The fire didn't make it to his skin." The doctor moved up to the head of the bed and watched Sam's eyes shifting beneath his lids. "I think he's finally decided to rejoin us."

Dean gripped his brother's shoulder firmly and smiled as his eyes fluttered open. "Hey, tiger. You done scarin' me for the day?"

"Dean?" Sam's voice was exhausted and slurred. His eyes were glazed as he looked up at his brother and confusion passed across his face. "S'cold."

"Yeah, you were freezing. You're warm now." Dean patted his shoulder and frowned as Sam started to twitch in the bed. "Sam? Dude, you're ok. Talk to me."

"S'cold." Sam said again softly and then closed his eyes on a moan. "S'worse when it's cold."

"What? Sam…" Dean felt the breath punched out of him as Sam started to convulse in the bed. "No. No, no, come on, Sammy. Don't do this!" He wrapped his hands around Sam's head to hold it still.

"He's seizing!" The doctor called and yelled for a nurse.

Dean tuned him out. He knew this had nothing to do with his dip in the lake. It was the Cage, or, more specifically, another crack in Sam's wall. "Sammy? Come back now. Come on." He shrugged off the hand that tried to move him as the frantic beeping of the heart monitor echoed in his ears. "Please, Sammy."

"Has this happened before?" The doctor asked as he held a stethoscope to the young man's chest. His heart was galloping and he had broken out in a sweat. If he didn't know better, he'd think Sam was epileptic, but he knew that not to be the case from the tests they'd done on his arrival.

"Once. He'll be fine." Dean sucked in a breath as Sam suddenly went still in the bed. This was the part he hated. The convulsing was bad enough, but this, the utter stillness where not even breath passed his lips and the waiting…it made his heart hurt with fear. "Come on, Sam. Breathe, dammit. Just take a breath. One breath."

The doctor stood back and watched as the older brother coached the younger through whatever it was. He watched Sam's oxygen levels drop as his heart rate steadied and began to fall as well. He raised a hand when he saw a nurse pushing in a crash cart and waited. Dean's focus was to the exclusion of all else, and, though he heard panic in the man's voice, he also heard a steady belief that his brother would be alright.

"One breath, Sam. Please," Dean pleaded. A moment later he was rewarded. Sam's eyes shot open and he stuttered in a long, gasping breath. "Hey. It's ok. You're ok. Sam? You here?"

Sam heaved in another breath and focused on his brother's eyes, using them to ground himself in reality. He nodded. "M'here. Hey."

Dean smiled and breathed past the lump of his own heart in his throat. "Hey, little brother. You're in the hospital. You're safe."

Sam nodded again and closed his eyes as a headache ratcheted through his skull. "Ok."

Dean leaned back and looked up at the doctor who had yet to move. "His head's splitting. He needs something for the pain."

"No…don't. M'alright," Sam insisted softly.

"Shut up, Sam." Dean glared down at him and looked back to the doctor with a raised brow.

"I'll get him something immediately." He checked Sam's vitals quickly and fired off orders to his nurse for medications. He watched the pained lines ease from Sam's face as the painkiller injected in his IV took effect. "Dean?" He motioned toward the door and stepped outside.

Dean sighed and smoothed the hair from Sam's forehead before turning and going out into the hall where the doctor waited for him. He couldn't even begin to think how to explain what had just happened. "Yeah, doc?"

"It's Mark by the way. Mark Hanna." Dr. Hanna smiled and took Dean's elbow, moving him away from the door. "Look, I know that seizure wasn't epileptic and given what I just watched…PTSD? Did Sam serve somewhere?"

Dean stared at him, judging him, and decided to give a little. He nodded. "Yeah, he served." Nearly two hundred years trapped in a cage with two pissed off Archangels to save the whole damn world and you, and you don't even know, he ranted in his head but didn't say it. Dean took a breath to calm himself and smiled. "It's only happened once before. He's fine."

"No, he's really not. Not if that is happening to him." Mark ran a hand through his hair and studied the man in front of him. His concern for his brother was obvious, and the nurses and orderlies had all commented on how protective he was. "Tell me he's getting help, talking to someone. He needs to be talking to someone, Dean. Whatever he survived, it doesn't just go away when it causes seizures like that."

"He talks," Dean growled, his patience coming to an end. "He'll be fine. I won't let him be anything else. You just patch him up, Doc. I'll take care of the rest."

Mark sighed again and nodded. "I believe you will. Alright. I want to keep him for another hour to make sure there are no ill effects from the seizure or his time in the water, and then you can take him home."

"Thanks." Dean turned to go back in the room and stopped when the doctor grabbed his arm.

"I want him back in here in two days for a check-up. Sooner if he becomes ill." Mark fixed him with a firm stare until Dean finally nodded. "Good. Go on."

Dean left him in the hall and went back to his brother's bed. The burned blanket had been replaced with a new one and he nodded, seeing it was just a regular blanket. He wasn't going to let another electric blanket anywhere near him. The nurse smiled at him and left as the orderly finished gathering the burned remains of the bedclothes in the corner and Dean sat at Sam's side again.

"You're gonna give me grey hairs, Sammy," Dean whispered and rested a hand on his shoulder. He watched the orderly leave with the blanket remains and frowned, looking back at his brother. "A little fire you said." He tried to pull up what Sam had told him on the phone before he fell but it was a jumble. Dean's nerves began to tingle; A little fire in the lighthouse when Sam had been alone and now a little fire in the hospital when Sam had been alone. He didn't believe in coincidence. Something screwy was going on.

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_To Be Continued… _


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Beast of Beaver Bay

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A lighthouse on a cliff, mysterious deaths and random fires…nothing is ever easy for a Winchester. Post 6x16 "And then there were none" tagged to previous story "What Evil Lurks" angst/hurt/caring/awesome!sam/dean

**Author's note:** I'm sure you've all noticed the over long delays on this chapter and the Reader's Special. I'm sorry about that but the end of a marriage is a messy thing and getting out even messier. I am out now and happily living with one of my best friends who opened her home to me. :D Living with Xenascully…our fanfiction shall take over the world now! Hahaha  
Important thing is, the upheaval's over and I can concentrate on my writing again. :D

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D – Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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"_I want him back in here in two days for a check-up. Sooner if he becomes ill." Mark fixed him with a firm stare until Dean finally nodded. "Good. Go on."_

_Dean left him in the hall and went back to his brother's bed. The burned blanket had been replaced with a new one and he nodded, seeing it was just a regular blanket. He wasn't going to let another electric blanket anywhere near him. The nurse smiled at him and left as the orderly finished gathering the burned remains of the bedclothes in the corner and Dean sat at Sam's side again._

"_You're gonna give me grey hairs, Sammy," Dean whispered and rested a hand on his shoulder. He watched the orderly leave with the blanket remains and frowned, looking back at his brother. "A little fire you said." He tried to pull up what Sam had told him on the phone before he fell but it was a jumble. Dean's nerves began to tingle; A little fire in the lighthouse when Sam had been alone and now a little fire in the hospital when Sam had been alone. He didn't believe in coincidence. Something screwy was going on._

_**CHAPTER 4**_

"I can walk, Dean," Sam said in a long-suffering tone as his brother hovered while he walked from the Impala to the keeper's house through the falling snow. He had a blanket from the hospital draped over his head and shoulders against the snow.

"Says the guy who fell into the damn lake," Dean growled. He strode past his brother and opened the door to the house, waiting for him to get in, and then slapped it closed behind him. "I'm gonna make some coffee and then you're gonna tell me what the hell happened." They hadn't had an opportunity in the hospital once Sam woke again with Dr. Hanna and the nurses hovering, and Sam had been quiet in the car, watching the snow fall in the headlights as they drove, and Dean had let him rest and recover a bit more.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam called as his brother went ahead into the kitchen, suddenly realizing what was awaiting him there. He cringed as Dean shouted.

"What the hell?"

Sam followed him in and found him staring at the burnt, partially melted ruin of the coffee maker. "That was the fire that happened earlier." He explained apologetically as Dean looked sadly at the remains of the machine. "Don't worry. There's another coffee maker and a French press up in the lighthouse, second floor."

Dean grabbed the trashcan and shoved the burnt machine off the counter into it. "Ok. You, sit." He pointed imperiously at a chair at the table. "I'll go get it."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he sat and smiled innocently before Dean left and headed up into the tower. "Right." Sam stood and shrugged off the blanket. What he really wanted were his own clothes rather than the scrubs he was still wearing, but first, the little house needed safeguarding. Neither of them had taken the time to do it earlier before the day went to hell.

Dean stood over the short counter on the second floor of the tower and scowled down. The mate of the former coffee maker sat there, mocking him with the danger of another fire, while what he assumed was the French press sat beside it and dared him to try and figure it out. "Dammit." He grabbed both, one in each arm and headed back down the stairs. He decided he'd figure out the stupid French thing since it didn't need to be plugged in…at least he didn't think it did.

He jogged back down the tower, only banging his head once on the way down with a muttered curse and came back out in the kitchen. "Alright, I'm gonna use this press thing and if you laugh even once…" Dean broke off as he looked up and saw his brother wasn't where he left him. "Sam?"

"In here."

Dean set his burden on the counter and stalked into the living room, ready to beat his brother if only he hadn't been mostly dead all day. "I thought I told you to sit the hell down?"

Sam chuckled and finished pouring a line of salt at the window. He'd already done both doors. "You want the markers? Plenty of room on the windowsills for angel proofing."

Dean glared but went to the pile of supplies Sam had left out on the coffee table. "I want to know what happened, Sam."

"I know what we're hunting," Sam said with a grim smile and set the salt aside before dropping heavily into one of the well-stuffed, blue armchairs. He was exhausted, but they didn't have time for him to take a nap just yet.

Dean jerked around from the window and stared. "You're waiting 'til now to tell me this?"

Sam raised his hands. "Dude, I haven't had the chance until now! I only figured it out in the water." He shivered with the memory of being so cold and startled when, a moment later, a quilt landed in his lap.

"You're still wearing those stupid scrubs," Dean said gruffly and turned back to the window. "Don't do crap to keep you warm."

Sam smiled warmly at his back and pulled the blanket around his shoulders. Dean was right. "It's called a Nokken."

"Gonna do the kitchen." Dean gave his shoulder a slap as he went past with the marker and the salt. "What the hell's a Nokken? Sounds like a Barbies-only club. Get it?" He looked at Sam and grinned. "No Ken?"

"Pitiful, dude." Sam laughed. He picked up his laptop bag on his way into the kitchen and sat at the little table again, sliding it out of its bag and turned it on. "Nokken are Norse, I think. They live in rivers and lakes or small seas…..and they're shapeshifters."

"Oh, that's just awesome." Dean rolled his eyes as he set a kettle of water to boil. "So it can look like anyone?"

Sam shook his head. "No. They have very specific forms. Uh…hang on." He pulled up the archive of creature lore he'd been accumulating on the laptop for years and scrolled through until he found the entry he wanted. "Here. They can appear as handsome men to lure women, beautiful women to lure men, a white horse with black eyes, an old tree stump, or a small wooden boat." Sam sat back and wrapped his arms around himself under the blanket. "That's how I knew what it was. I found a boat and got in, and then the damn thing changed into seaweed and tried to drown me."

"So why'd it just leave you alone and dude…a stump? Really?" Dean snorted and then watched him shiver under the blanket and frowned. "You cold again?"

"Huh? No." Sam smiled to reassure him. "If you say the Nokken's name, it disappears back into the water for a time. Remembered that while I was trying not to suck in the lake."

"Never been so grateful for that geek brain of yours," Dean muttered and went back to the kettle as it boiled. He picked up the coffee tin and then looked between it, the French press, and the kettle.

"Coffee grounds go in the press first." Sam chuckled.

"Shut up. I can do this." Dean tossed a glare at him over his shoulder. He pulled the plunger looking thing out of the press and set it aside, then shoveled grounds into it. He reached for the plunger, heard a snort from behind him and picked up the kettle instead with a growl. "Coffee's not supposed to be this complicated."

Sam lost his battle and laughed, leaning back in his chair. He ducked the coffee scoop Dean tossed at him. "You could have just used the coffee maker."

"No way." Dean shoved the plunger down into the press and picked up the machine beside it. He opened a cupboard door and stuck it inside, closing it. "My spidey senses are tingling."

"I thought you were Batman," Sam chuckled.

"There was a fire here and another in the hospital and both while you were alone," Dean said grimly and nodded at the surprised look on Sam's face. "The electric blanket they had over you caught on fire. Doc said it must have been faulty wiring."

"Well, it probably was, Dean." Sam rolled his eyes at the fierce expression on his brother's face.

"Right. Faulty blanket." Dean raised a brow. "And a faulty coffee maker? All in the same damn day and both putting you at risk? No way."

"I admit it's a little coincidental but…"

"No buts." Dean cut him off. "One fire is an accident. Two is something I ignore and regret later. Our family's kinda got a history with fire and not a good one."

"Well, then what do you think it is?" Sam threw his hands up in exasperation. "Ghost? Not likely that a ghost bound to this lighthouse would track me to a hospital. It's not a demon. There's no sulfur here. Did you see any in the hospital?"

Dean shook his head. "No. Doesn't mean there's not something screwing with us." He glared at his brother. "With you."

"I think you're overreacting," Sam said gently. He got up and went to the counter, moving Dean aside and took out a couple mugs, pouring coffee into each. He handed one to Dean and shrugged. "If it is something supernatural, we'll figure it out."

Dean rolled his eyes as Sam said it with the complete sincerity of faith in his older brother. He didn't always feel worthy of it and certainly not at that moment having almost lost him because he left him alone without even making the lighthouse safe first. It was a rookie mistake. "Damn right, we will."

Sam dropped back into the chair and pulled the blanket around his shoulders, then huddled over his coffee cup, soaking in its warmth. "Wouldn't mind a roaring fire right now." He smirked at the look on Dean's face and shrugged. "Dude, I was a human ice cube."

"Yeah, well the human part's debatable." Dean chuckled and stood. He could feel the chill from outside lowering the temperature inside. "I'll get some wood." He pulled his jacket off the back of the chair and pulled it on before opening the side door. He shivered as the wind blew snow into the kitchen and quickly went out, pulling it shut behind him. Dean jogged across the small platform to the foghorn shack and ducked inside out of the wintry assault. "Florida," Dean said as his teeth chattered. "Next job we take is gonna be in friggin' Florida."

The interior of the store house was cluttered with equipment and the foghorn, which poked out the sea side of the building letting some of the cold in. He slammed his hands over his ears as it sounded. "Shit!" The sound was deafening, and he breathed a sigh of relief when it stopped. "That's gonna get old fast."

Sam jumped with the sound of the foghorn and snapped out of the doze he'd slipped into at the kitchen table. He smiled. It wasn't quite so blaring inside the keeper's house as it had been outside. He smirked, realizing that Dean must be in the storehouse with the horn. Sam's smirk turned to a frown as he shivered in a draft of frigid air. He straightened in his chair and looked over; the door was open again.

"Huh." Sam rose, pulling his blanket more tightly around him and padded over to it. "Must not have latched properly." He eased it shut and checked the salt line behind it, finding it intact, and then went back to the table and his laptop to try and find a way to kill the Nokken.

Dean shoved open the door to the wood shed, grunting with the effort and cursed as it stuck halfway. "Great." He tried to push it the rest of the way into the wall, but it was stuck fast and he left it. He hit the light switch and smiled at the five-foot stacks of corded wood and the massive, gnarled stump yet to be split. They wouldn't be running out anytime soon. He loaded up an armful and, after a few fruitless tugs, gave up trying to get the door shut again. He stepped outside just in time for the horn to sound again and slapped his free hand over one ear as the snow drove into his face. Behind him, in the wood room, the stump began to darken and shift; two yellow eyes began to glow. Dean kicked the door shut behind him and slid through the snow to the lighthouse. The door opened as he reached it.

"I was about to come looking for you," Sam smirked as Dean lumbered in bringing a flurry with him and he closed the door quickly against the frigid air, giving it an extra tug to make sure it was latched.

"Dude, tell me we've got earplugs somewhere?" Dean shook his head as his ears were still ringing from the foghorn.

Sam chuckled. "It's not that loud in here."

Dean headed into the living room and started loading the wood into the fireplace. Sam came in behind him, and Dean frowned as Sam still clutched the blanket tightly around him. Dean grabbed the matches from the mantel and got the fire started, then turned around and shoved Sam down onto the couch next to it. He was fairly sure Sam's lingering issue with being cold had nothing to do with his time in the lake and everything to do with the shaky wall in his head that had already leaked memories earlier in the day.

"Dude, get off," Sam grumbled but couldn't dismiss the comforting feeling as the first tendrils of heat from the fire reached him. "Gotta man the lighthouse."

Dean smirked as Sam's eyes began to droop before he'd even sat back all the way. "I got it. You stay." Whatever argument Sam thought of making died as his eyes closed and didn't open again, his head dropping to the back of the couch. Dean chuckled and twitched the quilt so it covered him better. He slid the grate in front of the fire and went back into the kitchen, grabbed his coffee and took Sam's seat, pulling the laptop closer. "Ok, geek boy. Let's see if you found anything good on this watery bitch."

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Dean woke and jerked his head up. "Shit." He'd fallen asleep at the kitchen table with his head on the laptop's keyboard. He looked up and startled to find the side door hanging open a few inches. "What the hell?" He rushed to his feet and to the door. Dean went outside and looked around for a minute for any sign of something strange but spotted nothing. He pulled the door shut and dashed through the snow to the foghorn shed and ran inside long enough to see nothing had been disturbed. His sense of something wrong wouldn't leave him alone, and he ran back to the lighthouse, skidding in the wet snow and went back inside. He pushed the door shut and knelt beside it. The salt line was still intact, so it was unlikely something supernatural had come in…unless salt didn't stop a Nokken.

The smell of something burning brought him to his feet in a rush as dread dropped into his stomach. "Sam!" Dean ran through the kitchen into the living room. He barely registered the smoke rising from the edge of Sam's blanket on the floor or the curls of flame starting to climb the quilt toward him before he had ripped it off and used the rest of the fabric to smother the small fire.

"Dean?" Sam asked groggily and opened his eyes as he shivered, suddenly cold. "What's going on?" His eyes widened in surprise as he found his brother stomping snow wet shoes on the quilt that had been covering him. "Dude, why are you mad at my blanket?"

"It was on fire, Sam," Dean said angrily. Satisfied the danger was past, he went to his brother and scanned him quickly for any sign he'd been singed and found none. "That's three, Sammy. I'm done believing in coincidence now. Something's out to get you."

Sam sat in shock, looking between the quilt and his brother while his tired brain processed the information. "It was on fire?" He asked and then looked over to the still burning fire. He pointed. "It could just have easily been an ember from the fireplace Dean."

"No. No way, Sam. Three times I've left you alone now, and three times something's tried to barbeque you." Dean stalked over to the nearby chair and dropped into it then stood again, too restless to sit. "From now on, if you're asleep, I am your shadow." He raised a hand as Sam opened his mouth to argue. "Deal with it."

Sam grumbled and got up, wrapping his arms around himself. "Fine…Mom."

"You think I won't kick your ass, Popsicle boy?" Dean glared as Sam chuckled, grabbed his duffel still on the floor and went past him into the kitchen.

"I'm not scared of you." Sam rolled his eyes and smirked. "Hard to be scared of a guy with half a keyboard imprinted on his face.

"What?" Dean turned to the mirror over the mantle and growled, seeing the clear impressions of square keys on his cheek and forehead. "Son of a bitch!"

Sam laughed and headed back into the keeper's house. He found the bedroom at the very back beside the stairs leading up to the lamp room and flicked on the lights. Thankfully, there were two queen beds, one on either side of the room rather than the single bed he'd been worried about since the last keepers had been a couple. He smirked again wondering how Dean was going to adjust as the beds were equidistant from the door, his big brother always demanding the bed closest in his compulsive need to greet danger first. He tossed his bag on the bed to the left and pulled out his sleep pants and a clean t-shirt. He was officially tired of being in hospital scrubs. He turned to the door and groaned, finding Dean standing and waiting for him.

"Really, man? Are you going to follow me into the bathroom too?" Sam went past him and down the hall, resolutely closing the door on Dean's scowling face. "You're not showering with me, man."

"Aw, that's wrong, Sammy," Dean groaned. He stayed standing outside the door for a moment and then went back to the kitchen, disgusted with himself. Nothing was likely to set his brother on fire while he was in the shower. He started the kettle boiling for more coffee. The incident with the fire had ruined him for sleep for the night; all his nerves were on edge, and he listened acutely to every strange sound inside and outside the house. He knew something was going on. Something had gotten into the keeper's house twice now and threatened his little brother, and he wouldn't stop until he figured out what it was. He went back to the laptop while the kettle boiled. He'd dozed off in the middle of reading Sam's research and, as he looked back over it and his own, knew they had no idea how to kill the Nokken yet or even how to protect against it save for saying its name.

"Dammit." Dean dug his phone out of his jacket on the chair and scrolled down to Bobby's number, hitting dial while he cocked an ear, hearing the shower turn on.

"Boy, you know what time it is?" Bobby's gruff, sleep-deprived voice greeted him.

Dean smiled, the sound of Bobby's voice giving him some small measure of comfort that he wouldn't be alone in figuring this out. "Oh, I thought maybe you might wanna help us kill a Nokken and figure out what in hell's trying to set Sam on fire every time I turn my back."

"What?" Bobby's voice bellowed out of the phone. "What the hell mess are you two into now, and where are you?" He was already up and going to the disordered shelf of books beside his desk. Bobby had heard of a Nokken before but didn't know anyone who had hunted one.

"Beaver Bay, Minnesota and it's friggin' freezing up here, by the way." Dean rose and went to the counter, glaring at the coffee press for a moment before pulling the machine out of the cupboard. He decided that, as long as he was standing there, it would be safe enough to use. "The Nokken's already dragged Sam into the lake once." Dean stopped and shuddered for a moment. "Almost lost him, Bobby."

"Balls," Bobby breathed softly. "Ok. We'll figure this out." He took a large book from the shelf with a Norse symbol engraved on the cover and put it on his desk, letting it thump open to the center. "Don't know a whole lot about Nokken, but I'll find it. Now, what about your firestarter? Ghost or somethin' else?"

"Shit, Bobby. I don't know." Dean ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Salt lines aren't broken, and whatever it is has gone after him twice here. Do Nokken set fires?"

"I don't think so, but I'll check." Bobby dropped into his chair and started turning pages, looking for the right entry. "Gonna have to brush up on my Norse for this one. Look, just don't leave him alone 'til we know what's after him."

"Count on it," Dean said firmly.

"I'm gonna email you some sigils I found; expand your protection there." Bobby opened his laptop and waited for it to boot. "Paint them on any windowsill or door with holy water and salt."

"What exactly are they protection against?" Dean asked and went to the living room, picking up the weapons bag from where he'd left it by the door and brought it back to the table.

"Hell, all kinds of creepy critters," Bobby said and shrugged as he pulled up his email and the file he wanted. "'Til you know what's comin' for him, this is the best we got."

"Alright. Thanks, Bobby." Dean heard the shower turn off and sighed. "Gotta go."

"I'll call ya I find anything," Bobby said and snorted as the line went dead. "Idjits."

Dean snapped his phone closed and kept an ear out to the bathroom while he waited for Bobby's email. It occurred to him then how little sleep he was going to be getting. "Son of a bitch." He was exhausted, but whatever was trying to burn Sam only came for him when he was asleep." Dean frowned. "…and alone," He added aloud. Maybe he could get some much needed shut-eye so long as they were in the same room together. He looked up as Sam came out of the bathroom dressed in sleep pants and a t-shirt.

"Get some sleep, Dean," Sam said with a smile as he came into the kitchen. "Dude, the bags under your eyes have bags." He raised his hands as Dean scowled. "Dude, I'll stay awake. No sleeping until you're up. I get it." He did. Much as he wanted to write off the fires, he knew better. They'd been doing this for too long, and he had that itch at the back of his neck that told him something was screwing with him.

Dean growled but knew he needed the downtime. "Fine." He stood and went to the coffee maker, pouring out a cup before unplugging it. He handed the mug to Sam, ignoring the smirk on his brother's face. "Take the laptop. You stay in the same room."

"Dean…"

"No stupid chances, Sam." Dean gave him a shove down the hall once he'd picked up the laptop. "Pretty sure I've earned the right to be a little overprotective after today."

Sam opened his mouth and then closed it…because he was right. He knew if it had been him trying to find Dean and pull him from that icy lake, he'd have trouble letting him out of his sight as well. "Fine." He settled at the little desk in the bedroom with the computer and his coffee while Dean stopped off in the bathroom for a couple minutes and then came in dressed for bed.

Dean stopped in the door and studied the two beds, equidistant from the door and scowled. He ignored Sam's knowing chuckle. "I mean it, Sammy. You even think you smell smoke, you wake me up. You get tired, you wake me up." He climbed into the right-hand bed with a grateful sigh as his head hit the pillow and closed his eyes. "No more damn fires."

"Sleep already," Sam told him and opened the laptop. He found an email from Bobby and dove into reading that as Dean's soft snores began to fill the room. "Where did you find these, Bobby?" He asked softly as he looked over the protective symbols Bobby had sent with an admonition to paint them over doors and windows with a mix of holy water and salt. Sam glanced up and sighed; Dean had left the weapons bag in the kitchen. He looked over at his brother and weighed the chances of him adding the glyphs Bobby had sent to the house and not being caught at it. He snorted and leaned back in his chair, getting comfortable instead. For tonight at least, he'd give his brother what he wanted. Tomorrow, they'd be talking about it.

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_To Be Continued… _


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Beast of Beaver Bay

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A lighthouse on a cliff, mysterious deaths and random fires…nothing is ever easy for a Winchester. Post 6x16 "And then there were none" tagged to previous story "What Evil Lurks" angst/hurt/caring/awesome!sam/dean

**Author's note:** Thank you everyone for being so patient with the delays on my stories. :D Hopefully this chapter and the next will make the wait worth it. Heh heh heh heh

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D – Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

_Dean stopped in the door and studied the two beds, equidistant from the door and scowled. He ignored Sam's knowing chuckle. "I mean it, Sammy. You even think you smell smoke, you wake me up. You get tired, you wake me up." He climbed into the right hand bed with a grateful sigh as his head the pillow and closed his eyes. "No more damn fires."_

"_Sleep already," Sam told him and opened the laptop. He found an email from Bobby and dove into reading that as Dean's soft snores began to fill the room. "Where did you find these, Bobby?" He asked softly as he looked over the protective symbols Bobby had sent with an admonition to paint them over doors and windows with a mix of holy water and salt. Sam glanced up and sighed; Dean had left the weapons bag in the kitchen. He looked over at his brother and weighed the chances of him adding the glyphs Bobby had sent to the house and not being caught at it. He snorted and leaned back in his chair, getting comfortable instead. For tonight at least, he'd give his brother what he wanted. Tomorrow, they'd be talking about it._

_**CHAPTER 5**_

Sam woke with a start, halfway to the floor as his chair went out from under him. He thumped to the bedroom floor and then groaned, listening to his big brother's laughter from above him. "Jerk."

Dean clapped his hands together and grinned. "Mornin', bitch!" He could have just nudged Sam awake but the brotherly gene that had made him torment Sam whenever possible since childhood had kicked in and so…he'd opted to kick the chair instead. He watched Sam sit up on the floor and chuckled. "Get enough sleep?"

"I really hate you sometimes," Sam glared up at him and got to his feet.

"No, you don't. Coffee's a waitin'. Come on!"

Sam watched Dean bounce out of the room and rolled his eyes. "I hate when you wake up a morning person." He climbed to his feet and followed Dean out, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "There a reason you're in such a good mood this morning?"

Dean shrugged and handed Sam a steaming mug of coffee. "Got a good night's sleep. What can I say?"

Sam took the coffee, already white with cream and kept the smile off his face because Dean had annoyed him and sat at the kitchen table. "We need to put up those protective symbols Bobby sent."

"Did that." Dean smirked. "You were busy snoring." He went into the living room, leaving Sam to follow. "Locked your ass in the bedroom while I did the rest of the lighthouse."

"You locked me in? Dude!" Sam got up and went after him. "Ok, we have got to talk about this. You're not gonna lock me up every time you leave the damn room."

"Wanna bet?" Dean dropped onto the couch and flicked the television on to the local news. "If it keeps our firebug from trying to light you up again, I'm all for it."

"Well, I'm not." Sam sat on the other side of the sofa and focused on the news. "It could be anything causing the fires. Hell, might even be a bad-tempered…fairy or something." He rolled his eyes when Dean snorted a laugh. "You know what I mean. It could be nothing."

"Right." Dean kicked his feet up on the coffee table. "So I'll just let whatever roast your ass next time."

"Dammit." Sam groaned and slumped back into the couch. The news caught his attention with images of fires in various buildings. He knew it caught Dean's as well when he saw him lean forward. "Dean." The report went on, detailing several fires in various businesses and homes through the last couple days, and Sam's eyes widened. "Are those…"

"All near places we've been since we got to town. Yeah," Dean nodded, scowling at the television as the report continued. "What the hell is going on?"

"It's like something's following us." Sam shook his head slowly and stood to pace as the report ended. "Setting fires near anyplace we stop, but…no one sees it? Them?"

"I don't like this." Dean growled. His phone started ringing and he ran into the kitchen to grab it. "Hello? Hey Bobby, what's the news?"

"Well, I found your Nokken. Killin' it ain't gonna be easy." Bobby sighed.

"When is it ever?" Dean went back to the living room and nudged Sam with his boot when he found him kneeling by the fireplace, cleaning the grate.

"Dude, it's not even lit. Calm down." Sam glared up at him and went back to pushing ashes out of the way. They were going to need it lit soon. The lighthouse apartment was anything but warm. "What's Bobby saying?"

Dean rolled his eyes and put his attention back on the phone and Bobby who'd continued speaking while he was distracted. "Huh?"

"Boy, are you even listenin' to me?" Bobby growled into the phone. "Pay attention, dammit. I ain't got all day to play twenty questions with you."

"Geez, sorry, Bobby. Someone need a hug?" Dean asked and chuckled while Bobby cussed at him. "Alright. Alright, so what do we do?"

"Couple a ways to kill this thing." Bobby pulled his notes closer and bent to them. "Unless you know where you can get your hands on three drops of virgin blood we're gonna have to go for plan B."

Dean snorted. "Fresh outta virgin blood here, Bobby, unless Sam's been reinstated. There's a time limit, right?"

"Shut up." Sam rose and plucked the phone out of Dean's hand, ducking into the kitchen while he sputtered. "Hey, Bobby."

"Sam. Good. I know you'll pay attention." Bobby smiled at Sam's laugh and Dean's cursing. "Alright, you need a steel cross and a piece of the creature. You're gonna bind it to the cross, I'll send ya the spell for that."

"How does binding it to a steel cross kill it?" Sam ducked away as Dean made a grab for the phone and flipped him off.

"Well, if you stop interruptin' me…"

"Sorry, Bobby," Dean said and grinned at his now highly irritated brother.

"I'm going to get more wood. You!" Dean aimed a finger at Sam as he went to the side door, "stay the hell away from anything flammable. I'm not putting you out next time."

"What's he yammerin' about? Forget it." Bobby shook his head. "Steel cross, piece of the Nokken, you bind it to the cross, and then drop the cross from the highest possible height you can find into the water. According to the lore, when it hits the water, the Nokken'll kick the bucket."

"Seriously? That kills it?" Sam leaned back against the wall, away from the coffee machine with a smirk.

"Hey, I don't make the rules I just pass 'em on." Bobby paused for a moment. "Sam, what's goin' on with you and the fires? Dean ain't been exactly clear."

Sam sighed. "I don't know, really, but whatever it is, I think it's following us." He quickly gave Bobby what little information they had. "It might be nothing…"

"Gonna side with your brother on this one, son," Bobby said surely. "Better safe than sorry."

"Yeah, I know," Sam groaned. "He's just being…" Sam trailed off and jerked off the wall.

"What? Sam?"

"I thought I heard…" Sam jerked as Dean's voice carried to him. "Dean!"

"Sam? Sam! What the hell's goin' on?" Bobby yelled and cursed as Sam hung up on him. "Balls!"

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Dean ducked his head from the still falling snow as he ran from the house to the foghorn shed and rushed inside from the cold. "Damn!" He wrapped his arms around himself and wished he'd put his jacket on. He jumped up and down a few times to try and warm himself and then went to the wood shed, shoving the door aside. "Next job…Florida." He flipped the switch for the light and groaned when nothing happened. "Oh, awesome." There was just enough light for him to see the woodpiles and the gnarled tree stump in the corner.

He leaned in and started picking off likely looking pieces of wood. "Anything crawls outta here at me and you're doing this next time, Sammy," He grumbled. A soft sighing sounded from his left and Dean froze. He turned his head, peering into the semi-dark at the other end of the wood shed. "What…the hell?"

Something darker than the shadows around it began to rise up, and he realized it was the tree stump he'd ignored. It was growing larger as he watched, rising up toward the roof, and, as he looked, two yellow eyes blinked into being and focused on him.

"Oh, crap." Dean threw the wood he held at it and turned to run but something dark and glistening whipped around his waist and pulled him back. He scrabbled at his with his fingers and grimaced. "Seaweed?" He grunted as he hit the pile of wood behind him and the air was knocked out of him. Dean dropped to the floor with a gasp. He saw the Nokken in its hideous, true form - a seething mass of dark and blackened seaweed with those eyes staring death out at him from their depths.

"Ok ugly." Dean got a hand behind him to pull his gun out and shouted in surprise as he was pulled up suddenly and crashed into the roof before dropping back down. "Son of a bitch! You are pissin' me off!" His gun had clattered off somewhere over the pile of wood, and he lunged for his boot instead and the knife he kept there. "Sam!" Dean yelled as he pulled the knife free. The coil of seaweed around his waist tightened again, and Dean sliced through the line leading back to the Nokken, making it scream. He rolled away and out the door. "SAMMY!"

Seaweed wrapped around his arms and up to his shoulders. Dean could do nothing as he was pulled and swung into one wall and then the other. Each impact made his ears ring and his vision waver while the Nokken growled angrily from its corner in the wood pile. He groaned as he was lifted from the floor to hang in the air and then shouted in pain when coils of seaweed whipped into his stomach and chest, the impact cutting through his t-shirt to the skin beneath.

"Dean!" Sam's voice bellowed in the small space.

Dean just managed to roll his head and see his brother before the pain took him under.

"NOKKEN!" Sam shouted at the creature. He stared in open-mouthed surprise when nothing happened. It didn't release Dean and disappear as it had the last time he used its name when it had him in the lake. Now, it reared up taller, tightening its grip around Dean and roared at him. "Must only work in the water, dammit!"

Sam ran at his brother instead with the steel machete he'd yanked from the weapon's bag. He sliced easily through the cords of seaweed holding Dean and had to let him drop in a heap while he faced the creature and its enraged scream.

"Get away from him!" Sam snarled, slicing through two more tendrils of seaweed as they came for him. He lunged under another attack and stabbed the machete into the center of the creature where it towered over him. Its scream rattled the walls, and it seemed to melt down into the floor. Sam scrambled aside as the dark wave of the Nokken washed toward him and then out the window where the fog horn sat.

"Crap. Dean?" Sam dropped next to his brother and rolled him carefully over. His shirt was cut to red, blood-soaked ribbons. Sam could see bruising already appearing through the rents around the cuts and he grimaced. "Dean." Sam put a hand to his neck, relieved to find his pulse steady. "Ok, we can't stay here."

Sam lifted Dean as gently as he could and then agonized over whether to toss him over a shoulder, the far easier wayto get him to the lighthouse, or drag him. He opted to drag his brother, worried that being over his shoulder would aggravate the wounds on his chest and stomach. "And you say…I'm heavy," Sam grunted as he pulled Dean's head and shoulders up and pulled him backwards through the shack, then out into the snow and across to the lighthouse. Sam laid him out on the kitchen floor and then scrambled to close the door and re-pour the salt line that had been broken by Dean's dragging legs.

"Ok. Ok. Dean?" Sam went back to him and sighed to find him still solidly unconscious. He picked up Dean's shoulders again and dragged him down the hall and into the bedroom. Getting him up onto his bed took some limb wrangling but finally Sam had him comfortable. "Don't go anywhere." Sam ran out to the kitchen. He filled a bowl with water and grabbed some towels, took those back to the bedroom and then went out again to get the first aid kit and bring that in too, then sat on the bed beside him.

"Gotta get this shirt off, dude." Sam talked to Dean even though he couldn't hear him. It was helping settle his own nerves as he lifted Dean's boneless body up so he was sitting propped against him. He pulled the shredded shirt off and tossed it aside, then gasped as he saw the bruises coming up across Dean's back. There were more on his arms in a sort of spiral from where the seaweed had held him tightly. Sam eased him back to the bed and wet a towel to start cleaning the welts on his chest and stomach.

"Did a number on you," Sam murmured as he gently wiped away the blood. "None of these are too deep, you got lucky." He glanced up as Dean gave a soft moan and watched his face turn into a frown of discomfort. "Dean?" Sam took his face in his hands and held Dean's head steady as he slowly came awake. "Dean, you're alright. It's gone."

"S'mmy?" Dean struggled to get his eyes open, scowling as he felt something holding his head still and blinked to find Sam's face close to his eyes and heavy with concern. "Wha…"

"The Nokken. It was in the shed," Sam told him and smiled. "You're alright. Looks like it just knocked you around a little."

Dean grimaced and raised a hand to rub over his face. "Got my ass…handed to me. Damn." He groaned as he suddenly became aware of the pain radiating from his arms, back, and front. He lifted his head to look down. "Shit!"

"It's ok. They're shallow." Sam assured him. "It's gonna hurt like hell when I clean them though."

"Awesome." Dean let his head fall back to the pillow and then raised his arms for a look.

"Just…lay still while I do this." Sam started cleaning the wounds again and half wishing Dean had stayed out just a little longer until this part was over. "Sorry," He said as Dean sucked in a breath.

"S'ok." Dean squeezed his eyes closed and tried to ignore the pain. His arms were stiffening by the minute. As much as he wanted to clean his own damn wounds, he knew he wasn't in any shape to.

Sam exchanged his bloody towel for a clean one and the disinfectant. "Ok, this is gonna be bad," He murmured apologetically.

"Just do it already," Dean groaned.

"Here we go." Sam soaked the towel and started running it over the open welts and cuts. Dean twitched as he cleaned the wounds on his chest and all out jerked away with a gasp as Sam cleaned a particularly deep one on his stomach. "Sorry. Sorry, almost done." Dean didn't answer him and Sam worked faster. He finished cleaning out the last one and saw the moment his brother lost his battle and passed out again.

Dean remained blissfully unaware while Sam stitched up the single deep gash to the left side of his stomach and bandaged the rest, for which Sam was grateful. He felt less like he was torturing his brother that way. Sam took the blanket off his own bed and spread it over Dean to keep him warm in the cool room and then sat back.

"Next time Bobby gives us a job on a lake in winter, we're saying no," Sam said ruefully. "Shit! Bobby!" Sam got up and ran back to the kitchen and the phone he'd dumped on the table. He hastily dialed their adoptive father and had to move the phone away from his ear when Bobby answered.

"What the hell's goin' on up there? Are you alright? Is Dean?"

"Take a breath, Bobby," Sam said calmly and with a smile for the gruff affection and concern blatant in the man's voice. "I'm fine, and Dean's…he got a little beat up, but he'll be fine. It was the Nokken."

"How'd that thing get the drop on Dean?" Bobby knew Dean would have been hyper vigilant since the attack on his brother.

"I don't know yet. He hasn't been able to tell me yet, don't worry," Sam said, heading off the concern. "He really is alright. Just passed out again while I was patching him up. Probably wake up spitting mad any time now."

Bobby nodded and smiled. "Don't doubt it. The Nokken's probably coming after you two hard 'cause it's figured out you're there to kill it. I expect the next call I get from you two to be tellin' me you've ganked that damn thing."

"Yes, sir." Sam grinned and hung up. He looked out the window toward the shed and frowned, wondering. He glanced down the hall and, with Dean still asleep, picked the machete back up and went outside and across to the shed. He stepped inside, shivering from the cold and searched the floor. He found the silver knife from Dean's boot and picked it up, tucking it in his belt and then saw what he wanted.

"Gotcha." Sam knelt in the door to the wood shed. A small piece of seaweed from the Nokken lay on the floor and glistened darkly in the overhead light. He picked it up, grimacing at the slimy feel and smiled. "Shouldn't have jumped my brother, huh?" Sam loaded up an armful of wood and then went quickly back to the lighthouse, senses alert in case the Nokken returned but it seemed to have tired of them for the moment. Sam opened the door to the kitchen, brushing snow out of his hair and stumbled in surprise to find Dean swaying next to the counter.

"Sammy?" Dean glared up at his brother from where he hunched over the counter. He'd woken alone and his only thought had been that the Nokken had come back and grabbed Sam and…. "What the hell were you doing?"

"Sorry, Dean. I found a piece of the creature." Sam bent and set the pile of wood on the floor then held up the piece of seaweed. He went around Dean to root through the cupboards for something to put the seaweed in. "Now we just need a steel cross…"

"You don't go out there on your own! Are you stupid?" Dean wasn't ready to be mollified. "It could have still been out there! It could have dragged your dumb ass over the damn cliff again!"

"Whoa! Calm down, alright!" Sam found a jar and tossed the seaweed in, putting it on the counter and then jumped forward to slide under Dean's shoulder as he slumped. "Hey, I'm ok. We're good. You need to be back in bed, let me…"

"I'm good." Dean gasped. He resisted Sam's tugging him toward the hall and turned instead to the living room. "Couch, dammit."

"Dean…fine." Sam rolled his eyes and helped his brother through the door and then to lie on the couch.

Dean eased down with a long groan and spent a minute just re-learning to breathe through the burning across his chest and stomach. "Mean it, Sam. Don't go…don't go anywhere without me."

"I got it. I won't. Now would you just relax?" Sam pushed his shoulder back against the cushions and tugged the afghan off the back, spreading it over him. "Hang on."

Dean let his head drop back to the arm of the couch and groaned softly as he listened to Sam go to the back of the house, bang around in the kitchen, and then come back. He raised his head and smirked, watching his brother stagger in under the armload of wood with the first aid kit in one hand and a whiskey bottle in the other.

"Hope that bottle's for me," Dean said and snorted a laugh as Sam lost his load of wood in a jumble on the floor. "Graceful."

"Hey, I can put the whiskey back," Sam warned and then shook his head, smiling as he handed the bottle to his brother. He tossed the first aid kit on the coffee table and opened it, pulling out the bottle of painkillers. "Here."

"Got my painkiller." Dean raised the whiskey bottle and took a swig, blowing out a breath as it burned down his throat.

"Would you just…take two?" Sam sighed and went to the fireplace. "Don't wanna listen to you whine all day." He laughed as a pillow thumped into the back of his head and started piling wood into the hearth.

"I don't whine." Dean scowled but shook one pill out of the bottle and washed it down with another healthy swallow while Sam's back was turned. He did hurt like hell but needed to stay alert, especially if his idiot brother was going to keep wandering off. He listened absently to Sam starting a fire and watched the flames spark to life as his head sank back to the couch again. A need to sleep slowly washed over him and each blink seemed to take longer and longer. Dean startled to open his eyes and find Sam leaning over him with a grin.

"I knew you'd only take one pain pill." Sam plucked the whiskey bottle from his brother's hand and set it on the table. "Crushed the other one up and put it in there." He tapped the bottle and chuckled.

"S'alc'hol abuse," Dean slurred as his eyes closed and wouldn't open again.

Sam nodded and pulled the afghan up to his brother's shoulders as he drifted off. "Yep. Worth it."

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"Dude, I'm starving! Come on!" Dean yelled at the bathroom door and gave it a kick. He held a hand over his left side and the stitches Sam had put in him against the ache. His whole chest hurt, but that wound was insistent every time he moved.

"Keep your pantyhose on," Sam chuckled as he came out and tossed the damp towel back onto the sink.

Dean slapped his shoulder and pointed at his middle when his stomach audibly growled. "Food."

Sam snorted. "We could just make something here you know." He grabbed his jacket and tossed Dean's to him.

"No way. I want out of this place for five minutes." Dean pulled his coat on awkwardly. His arms were still stiff from the bruises and any movement pulled the bruises on his back and the welts on his chest. "Plus your burgers suck."

"They do not. I just don't soak them in grease before I cook them." Sam opened the door and let Dean go out ahead of him.

"See? They suck." Dean grinned and walked to the Impala. He brushed snow off the hood in a wide swath and opened the driver's side door.

"Are you alright to drive?" Sam asked as he watched Dean ease himself behind the wheel and then got in.

"I'm awake. I can drive." Dean smiled as the engine rumbled to life and let the windshield wipers clear the snow as he backed away from the lighthouse.

The roads were crap, covered in snow, and the plow they passed wasn't making much of a dent as the white stuff kept falling. Dean settled on a restaurant a half-mile from the lighthouse as it looked like one of the few places actually open. He knew Sam was watching him like a hawk as they went inside and snarled at his little brother when he helped him sit in the booth.

"Dude, I'm not broken," Dean growled in irritation.

Sam smirked and sat across from him. "Then stop walking like you're ninety."

Dean turned his scowl into a smile as their waitress, a leggy, attractive blonde stopped at their table. "Afternoon."

She blushed prettily under Dean's gaze. "What can I get for you?"

Dean ordered the biggest, greasiest burger on the menu and made the waitress laugh rolling his eyes at Sam's order of salad. He enjoyed the sway of her hips as she walked away and grinned. "We're so eating here again."

Sam sighed, amused. "You are such a man whore."

"No, I'm just appreciative of all the work women put in to lookin' that good." Dean grinned and nodded at the various pretty women sitting and standing in the busy restaurant. "Someone's gotta."

"Man whore," Sam pointed at him with a laugh.

"I still haven't forgiven you ruining a perfectly good bottle of whiskey." Dean kicked him under the table and grinned at his yelp. "You're replacing that before we go back."

"You manage me when _I'm_ hurt," Sam argued.

Dean waved a hand. "That's different."

"How is that different?"

"I'm the big brother," Dean announced with finality and Sam groaned.

"Big pain in the ass," Sam muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"That's what I thought." Dean grinned again as the waitress returned with their food and dove in with gusto.

Dean leaned back a while later, shoving his empty plate away and groaned, part pain and part satisfaction, as he curved a hand over his stomach. "That's what I call lunch."

"More like a heart attack on a plate." Sam chuckled, watching him and finished off his own salad. "Hey, you going somewhere?" He asked as Dean pulled himself out of the booth.

"Bathroom. Why? You wanna hold something?" Dean snorted at the disgusted look on Sam's face.

"Oh, that was just wrong." Sam groaned as Dean walked away laughing. "You're not right, dude."

Dean chuckled all the way to the bathroom. He took a few extra minutes to just lean on the wall and breathe, composing himself. The pain was worse than he was letting on. He didn't need Sam tying him into his damn bed if he knew how much he actually hurt. He took a deep breath, straightened and stepped out of the bathroom. He stopped, tilting his head as the soft sound of music breathed through the air.

"What the hell?" Dean followed the sound to the end of the hall and an emergency door. He put his hand on the door, thinking he should get Sam but then pushed the door open and stepped outside. The music swelled more loudly in his ears and his eyes were caught by a beautiful woman at the back of the alley. She was nearly his height and naked. Shimmering black hair waved down over her shoulders and around her body, hiding just enough and she gazed at him with liquid gold eyes.

Dean took a step toward her…and then another, unable to stop himself even as his mind screamed at him that this wrong. He wanted to go for the gun at his back but he couldn't move except to walk closer. This is wrong, he thought to himself but she was beautiful and something about her eyes was mesmerizing…or maybe it was the music still playing in his ears. His mind was in a fog as she reached out to him and pulled him to her. All his aches and pains were forgotten as the touch of her hands slid around behind his neck to tangle in the ends of his hair. She pulled his face down that last inch and pressed her lips to his. Dean groaned as heat flooded through him, his mouth opening without his permission and he turned his head, deepening the kiss. He felt her breath warming his face and her hands holding his head.

She turned him and pushed him against the wall of the restaurant, pressing her nakedness against him. Dean's hands slid down her shoulders to her hips and held her. It felt wrong. Her hair seemed to move on its own, twining about his wrists. He wanted to stop kissing her. He wanted his gun and his brother yet could do nothing but be lost in the kiss. Dean felt the moment water began to pour into his mouth and down his throat. He realized now, this was how those people had died on dry land. He choked, trying to cough but she kept her hold on his mind and held him still as he drowned beneath the Nokken's kiss.

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_To Be Continued… _


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Beast of Beaver Bay

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A lighthouse on a cliff, mysterious deaths and random fires…nothing is ever easy for a Winchester. Post 6x16 "And then there were none" tagged to previous story "What Evil Lurks" angst/hurt/caring/awesome!sam/dean

**Author's note:**

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D – Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

_Dean took a step toward her…and then another, unable to stop himself even as his mind screamed at him that this wrong. He wanted to go for the gun at his back but he couldn't move except to walk closer. This is wrong, he thought to himself but she was beautiful and something about her eyes was mesmerizing…or maybe it was the music still playing in his ears. His mind was in a fog as she reached out to him and pulled him to her. All his aches and pains were forgotten as the touch of her hands slid around behind his neck to tangle in the ends of his hair. She pulled his face down that last inch and pressed her lips to his. Dean groaned as heat flooded through him, his mouth opening without his permission and he turned his head, deepening the kiss. He felt her breath warming his face and her hands holding his head._

_She turned him and pushed him against the wall of the restaurant, pressing her nakedness against him. Dean's hands slid down her shoulders to her hips and held her. It felt wrong. Her hair seemed to move on its own, twining about his wrists. He wanted to stop kissing her. He wanted his gun and his brother yet could do nothing but be lost in the kiss. Dean felt the moment water began to pour into his mouth and down his throat. He realized now, this was how those people had drowned on dry land. He choked, trying to cough but she kept her hold on his mind and held him still as he drowned beneath the Nokken's kiss._

_**CHAPTER 6**_

Sam looked at his watch. It had been over five minutes since Dean went to the bathroom. His brother could take care of himself, he knew, but when it came to injuries, the Winchester stubborn streak always made common sense take a back seat. Dean was hurting worse than he was allowing him to see; Sam was no idiot. He got up from the booth and tossed money on the table before heading for the bathrooms. Sam pushed into the men's room.

"Dean? You setting up shop in here or something?" Sam looked around and scowled. The room was empty and the first thread of worry shot through him. He went back out into the hall. "Dean?" Sam saw their waitress at their table and ran back. "Hey, did you see where my brother went?"

She smiled at him and nodded. "Little boy's room."

"No, after that," Sam demanded. He couldn't shake the feeling that something very bad was happening and he was going to be too late. "Where did he go?"

She frowned and took a step back from the intensity of his stare. "Uh, really. I just saw him…go in the men's room."

"Dammit." Sam turned, the waitress forgotten, and went back to the hall. He eyed the emergency door at its end and went to it. He shoved it open and stepped out into the alley beside the restaurant. The faint sound of music drew his eyes to his left and he gasped in shock. His brother was against the wall with the seaweed- hidden body of the Nokken pressed around him.

"Dean!" Sam shouted. He drew the steel knife he'd grabbed from behind his back and rushed the thing. Sam stabbed the blade into the body of the creature. The Nokken screamed and lurched away, leaving Dean to slide to the ground along the wall. It spun with a last, yellow-eyed glare at Sam and melted into the shadows to vanish.

"Dean?" Sam knelt beside him and stared in confusion. He took Dean's face in his hands. His face was wet and, as Sam watched, water ran out of his mouth. "Oh God! Dean!" Sam pulled him forward and slid in behind him, realizing what had happened. He wrapped his arms around his brother's stomach, clasped his hands together, and pulled in and up sharply. More water flowed out of Dean's mouth and down over Sam's hands to freeze in the cold air. He did it again and almost cried in relief when Dean coughed and lurched forward as he gasped and gurgled for air.

"Dean? Breathe, ok? Just…breathe." Sam shifted his arms across his chest to hold Dean upright against him while he coughed and heaved for air. "That's it. Breathe." He leaned back, keeping a firm grip on his brother and tried to quiet his galloping heart and the fear that was making his hands shake. "That was too close," Sam whispered.

"Sam." Dean heard his brother's voice in his ear, urging him to breathe, and he fought through the fog that still clouded his mind. The last thing he remembered was the woman…the Nokken…. pouring water down his throat and the suffocating panic when it became more than he could swallow and started flooding into his lungs, starving him of oxygen. He shuddered and felt arms tighten around his shoulders, realizing they had to be Sam's, and the warmth at his back meant his little brother was holding him. He tried to pull away reflexively, but Sam held him tight.

"Stay still for a minute and just breathe, ok?" Sam kept his grip when Dean started to struggle and nodded as Dean relaxed again. "You alright?" Dean nodded once, still coughing too much to really speak. "Why'd you come out here alone?"

Dean shook his head and tried to clear his throat. "Music," He said in a hoarse voice and sucked in another breath.

"Aw, man." Sam let his forehead drop to rest in Dean's hair as he was overcome with guilt. He never should have let Dean go off on his own. He knew the Nokken could use music to lure its prey. "I'm sorry, Dean. I should have thought…"

Dean slapped a hand onto Sam's arm over his chest to stop him. "Not…your fault." He shivered suddenly as the water soaking his shirts began to freeze in the frigid air.

Sam loosened his grip and eased out from behind his brother, setting him back against the wall. "Stay here for a minute." He smirked when Dean's hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder. "I'm just going to bring the car over." Sam pointed to the other end of the alley where they could hear people chatting and see several parked cars. "Don't think you want me carrying you out of here with all those witnesses."

"Can walk," Dean asserted. He tried to push up and fell back, only Sam's hand behind his head keeping it from slapping into the wall. "Dammit."

"One minute. Promise." Sam waited for Dean's reluctant agreement and patted his shoulder.

Dean watched Sam jog away toward the parking lot and cursed his own weakness. He pulled his jacket closed with cold-numb fingers and let his head fall forward in exhaustion. His lungs burned and another coughing fit left him gasping and fighting the black spots that crawled across his vision. Distantly, he heard the sound of the Impala's engine rumble to life and comforted himself that he'd be warm soon enough. He opened his eyes after a minute and frowned. He could still hear the car's engine, but it had yet to move any closer.

"Sam?" Dean called. It came out as little more than a croak. He groaned and rolled slowly to his knees. It took him several long minutes to gain his feet with the help of the wall, and the first step nearly sent him back down again. "Move, dammit." He used the cold brick of the wall to stay upright as he inched down the alley toward the parking lot. A few people gave him odd, curious glances in the lot as he passed between the cars, but no one approached him. Dean could see the Impala sitting just where they'd left it. He eased along the trunk toward the driver's side, and fear froze him far more than the ice cold air on his wet shirt ever could. The engine was still running, the driver's side door was hanging open, but his little brother was nowhere to be found.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted, ignoring the harsh tearing sensation in his throat after his recent trauma, and turned to look around the parking lot. Several people looked up, but none of them were Sam. He went to the door, and then sank to his knees in a moment of weakness. A few drops of blood sprayed across the dash, a few more were on the seat, and a bloody knife lay on the floorboard as though knocked there during a struggle. "Sam," Dean breathed. He reached into the car and picked up the wicked looking knife. Something about it tugged at him, as if he should know it.

"Dean?"

Dean spun on a knee in surprise and looked up to find Officer Travers standing over him. "Travers!" Dean gasped. He pulled himself up with the door, not arguing when the officer helped, pulling under his shoulder until he was standing.

"Dean, are you alright?" Travers looked him over with concern. "Last time I saw you was on the beach with your brother. What's going on here? Where's your brother?"

Dean held up the knife and gestured to the car. "Sam. He's gone. He's just…" Dean looked around in a panic, at a complete loss and still somewhat dazed from his own near-deadly encounter only a couple of minutes earlier. "There's blood."

Travers moved the distraught man aside and leaned him against the car. "Let me have a look." He leaned down into the driver's door and frowned. There were clear signs of a struggle and the blood said something bad had definitely happened recently. "When's the last time you saw him?"

"Few minutes ago." Dean looked down at the knife again and knew he should remember where he'd seen it last. "He…came out to get the car."

"You sound like crap." Travers assessed the man and saw the clear signs of shock, not to mention the front of his shirt was wet for some reason. Sam was obviously not the only one that something had happened to. "Ok, let me handle this."

"No. No. He's here somewhere. It was only a few minutes." Dean glared around the parking lot as though he could make his brother appear. "He has to be."

"Dean." Travers took his arm and eased him down until he was sitting against the car. It was the best he could do for the moment. "Are you injured?" Travers could see he was moving stiffly and kept an arm curled across his stomach.

Dean nodded. "It's nothing. We gotta find Sam. Now!"

"We're going to." Travers took out his phone and dialed the precinct. Once he'd called in the troops, he bent to Dean again and slid his hands under his shoulders. "Up you come, Dean. That's it, come on." He got the taller man standing and slid under one of his arms, leading him away from the Impala.

"Not leaving my car," Dean argued but Travers kept tugging him away.

"Dean, your car is evidence of an abduction right now." Travers led him to his own squad car and pushed him into the passenger seat. Protocol said no one rode in the front except other officers, but he couldn't do that to the man, shove him in the back like a criminal when he was in this state. "Let us do our jobs. I'm taking you back to the lighthouse." He ignored the other man's increasingly feeble protests as Dean's own body protested too much recent abuse and closed the passenger door and ran around, getting behind the wheel.

Dean craned his head, watching the Impala as long as he could. It felt like it was his last tie to his brother. He answered Travers' questions in a fog all the way back to the lighthouse and waved him off when he would have come inside with him. Dean staggered into the keeper's house and to the living room, dropping onto the couch and stared at the embers of the fire Sam had built that morning.

"Bobby." Dean felt around his pockets and took his phone out, hastily dialing. He felt a small sense of relief on hearing the older Hunter's voice and closed his eyes for a moment. "Bobby, I need help."

"Dean? You alright, son?" Bobby heard a note of contained panic in Dean's voice. No one else would have noticed, but he'd raised those boys. He knew what he was hearing, and there was only a short list of things that would put that tone in Dean's voice. "Where's Sam?"

"Bobby, he's gone." Dean had to stop and cough again, struggling to catch his breath against the pain the coughing caused to his bruised and stitched chest and stomach.

"Dean? Dean!" Bobby jumped up from his desk in worry as he listened to the man hacking on the other end of the phone.

"I'm ok." Dean sat back with a soft groan and told Bobby what he knew, what had happened in the alley, and what he'd found in the car. He pulled the knife out of his jacket, thankful Travers hadn't thought to confiscate it, and looked at the blade again. "There's something, Bobby…I know this damn knife. I just…I can't remember from where."

"We'll figure it out, son." Bobby was already in his room, shoving clothes into a duffel. "I can be there in…" He closed his eyes and worked it out in his head. "…gimme six hours. I'll take the ferry across, save me six hours drive time."

"Bobby…hurry." Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Someone or something nabbed him, and I got no clue where to look."

"We'll find him, Dean. Just keep your cool 'til I get there."

Dean listened to the absolute surety in Bobby's voice and let it calm him. He hung up and stared into the smoldering fire. "I'll find you, Sammy." He held the blade up again, turning it so the firelight glinted from its edges. Dean froze, staring. He lurched up with a hiss of pain and glared down at the blade.

"Son of a bitch," He breathed softly as recognition hit him like a freight train and left him stunned. He remembered where he had seen the knife before…in an abandoned subway below Rochester, New York, years earlier…held to his brother's throat.

_-0-0-0-0-0-_

_-Rochester, NY-_

_"Dean!" Sam shouted a warning. He started to turn and grab his attacker when a large knife flashed in front of his face before coming to rest at his throat. He froze as he felt metal tug against his skin._

_"You son of a bitch!" Dean stalked towards them. "Let him go!"_

_"Stay back!" Tim's voice bellowed in Sam's ear and he flinched in surprise._

_"Drop it!" Tim yelled again. "Drop it or I drop him."_

_Dean glared but bent and set the shotgun on the ground, unwilling to toy with his brother's life while a madman had a knife to his throat. "Let him go." He met Sam's eyes, and though they were wide, they were steady. He gave Dean a short nod to say he was alright._

_"Look, I don't want you. Just back off." Tim backed away another step, pulling Sam with him._

_"Too bad. You've got me." Dean stared fiercely at him and itched to have his gun in his hand. "You gotta know enough about me to know what happens to idiots who hurt my brother." He gave him a dangerous smile. "So, how big an idiot are you?"_

_"Shut up! Just shut up!" Tim shouted and backed a few more paces, dragging Sam with him. The knife bit into the skin under his chin and sliced into him, forcing Sam's head back on a small gasp. "He owes me. Stop MOVING!"_

_Dean took another step. There was no way he was letting him leave with Sam. A stream of blood crept down Sam's neck from under the blade, and Dean growled, taking two more steps to close the distance._

_"I'll kill him right here!" Tim warned._

_-0-0-0-0-0-_

Dean surged to his feet and threw the knife with a shout of rage. It embedded in the wall over the fireplace, and he stood panting, holding his stomach as the memories washed over him. They had left Tim for dead in that subway with a fire burning toward him. The old anger burned up through him, remembering Sam telling him how Tim and a couple of his friends had tried to force demon blood on his little brother and turn Sam into their pet demon killer. Sam had fought them off, and Tim…Tim had hunted him down looking for payback.

"Son of a bitch is dead this time," Dean promised darkly and went into the kitchen. He didn't hold much hope for the police actually turning his brother up now. It would be left to him and Bobby, and he had to hope that Sam could withstand whatever Tim was going to do for the next six hours. "Don't you die on me, Sammy." Dean stared out the kitchen window into the falling snow and tried to swallow back the fear for his brother. "Don't you dare."

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Sam moaned softly as he clawed his way back to consciousness. His thoughts were scattered and confused, a jumble of images: Dean, an alley, a waitress…he gasped and opened his eyes as he remembered the Nokken attacking his brother and then…he squinted and raised his head while his vision swam.

"About time you woke up, Sam."

The voice was low and dripped with hatred. Sam shook his head, trying to clear it and realized it was pounding with more than confusion. He felt something warm and wet slowly sliding down the back of his neck. Blood, he thought, and remembered…

_He ran from the alley to the Impala, fumbling the key into the ignition in his worry for his brother. The engine rumbled to life. Sam reached out to pull the door closed and reacted purely on instinct as a large knife flashed in front of him. He grabbed the arm holding it and pulled, yanking his attacker into the car and slamming the man's head into the steering wheel. Sam gasped as the blade sliced into his forearm, blood drops flying. He pulled harder on the arm he held and grunted in surprise as something hard slammed into the back of his head…_

Sam tried to jerk his head away as a hand clamped onto his jaw and lifted his head. He stared into rage-filled blue eyes and gasped in shock. "Tim?"

"Oh, good boy, Sam." Tim let Sam's head go and backed up a step. "Good to know you can still remember me, even after my little…reconstruction."

Sam stared, shocked at the ruin of the right side of Tim's face. The skin looked melted from hairline all the way down his face, neck, and beneath the collar of his shirt. The hand Tim held up to his face was also disfigured, the fingers curled unnaturally toward his palm. "You're alive." He remembered the last time he'd seen Tim, left for dead in that subway after he'd threatened Sam's life.

"If that's what you wanna call this." Tim spit at his feet and spun away. "You left me to burn, Sam. That kinda thing can really piss a guy off."

Sam looked around and wondered where he was. It was a cavern of some sort. The rock was well-worn, and torches hung in several places around the walls. The floor was cold and Sam realized he was barefoot. He looked down at himself and was startled to find he was only wearing his jeans. His shirts and jacket were in a heap a few feet away, and a long slice across his right forearm bled sluggishly as he pulled against the manacles holding his arms out and up, bolted to the wall.

"Tim, what are you doing?" Sam turned his attention back to the unbalanced Hunter. "If you're going to kill me…"

"Oh, I'm not gonna kill you, Sam." Tim turned back and gave him a rictus of a smile - the burned half of his face no longer moved. "That'd be murder, wouldn't it, Sammy?" Tim sneered and came back to stand in front of him. He launched a fist up, rocking Sam's head to the side and grinned as Sam's lip split and blood spilled down his chin. "You sanctimonious little shit. If you had just HELPED us when we asked you, none of this would have happened!" He gestured to his face and then pulled his shirt apart as buttons popped and flew to the floor. His chest was as ruined as the rest of him. He slapped a hand into the burned skin. "This is all your fault! You Winchesters." Tim growled and grabbed Sam's face again, smearing his hand through the blood. "You think you're better than the rest of us and for what? Well, I'm gonna show you how much better I think you are."

"Tim…" Sam started and had no time to brace himself as Tim's fist slammed into his face again.

"I'm gonna make everyone who sees you for the rest of your miserable life scream when they look at you, Sam." Tim took a handful of Sam's hair and pulled his head viciously down so Sam had to look at him. "You did this to me. I'm gonna return the favor."

"Tim, please," Sam spat blood onto the stone floor and watched as he went to one of the torches and slid it out of its sconce. "We could have killed you, we left you alive. Don't do this." Sam struggled to fight back the panic he could feel clawing at him as he realized what Tim was intending, only partially succeeding.

"Should have killed me, Sam." Tim came back and held the torch up in front of his face. "Now, this is gonna hurt. Trust me. I know." He ran a hand down the burns on his face with a twisted grin and moved the torch, holding it beneath Sam's outstretched left arm. He started to laugh as the smell of singed skin began to waft through the air, as Sam struggled desperately against the chains holding him, moaned, and then had no choice but to throw his head back and give voice to a scream as his skin began to blacken. "Music to my ears, Sammy. Music to my ears."

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_To Be Continued… _


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** Beast of Beaver Bay

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A lighthouse on a cliff, mysterious deaths and random fires…nothing is ever easy for a Winchester. Post 6x16 "And then there were none" tagged to previous story "What Evil Lurks" angst/hurt/caring/awesome!sam/dean

**Author's note:** Torture contained within, some graphic descriptions. RAOR

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D – Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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_"I'm gonna make everyone who sees you for the rest of your miserable life scream when they look at you, Sam." Tim took a handful of Sam's hair and pulled his head viciously down so Sam had to look at him. "You did this to me. I'm gonna return the favor."_

_"Tim, please," Sam spat blood onto the stone floor and watched as he went to one of the torches and slid it out of its sconce. "We could have killed you, we left you alive. Don't do this." Sam struggled to fight back the panic he could feel clawing at him as he realized what Tim was intending, only partially succeeding._

_"Should have killed me, Sam." Tim came back and held the torch up in front of his face. "Now, this is gonna hurt. Trust me. I know." He ran a hand down the burns on his face with a twisted grin and moved the torch, holding it beneath Sam's outstretched left arm. He started to laugh as the smell of singed skin began to waft through the air, as Sam struggled desperately against the chains holding him, moaned, and then had no choice but to throw his head back and give voice to a scream as his skin began to blacken. "Music to my ears, Sammy. Music to my ears."_

_**CHAPTER 7**_

Dean paced through the keeper's house. He'd slammed the door to the bedroom shut. Every time he saw Sam's bag, it stabbed guilt into him. Not knowing what was happening to his brother was like torture. Once, while standing in the bottom of the stairs up to the lighthouse, he'd almost been able to hear Sam's voice. He shook his head at himself and stalked back into the living room. Officer Travers had called once already to tell him they were, as they always said, pursuing every avenue, talking to witnesses and Dean had ignored the platitudes and hung up on him.

"Come on, Bobby." Dean growled as he looked out into the now-darkening sky. It had been over three hours since they'd spoken. Every moment made his skin crawl for Sam. Tim was a nut-job; that much had been obvious the last time they'd met him. He'd hoped the fire would have finished him off, and he swore this time to leave nothing to chance; Tim Janklow was not walking away from this.

He spun to the front of the house as he heard a car pull into the drive and ran to the door, swinging it open. He grinned weakly as he saw Bobby and his ball cap emerge from a beat up Volkswagen.

Bobby smiled as he jogged to the lighthouse, but inwardly, the look of barely restrained panic on Dean's face did nothing to settle his nerves. He clapped a hand to Dean's shoulder as he stepped inside and tossed his bag to the coffee table. "Skipped the ferry. Got a friend of mine to loan me his speed-boat." Bobby saw the whiskey bottle on the table and grabbed it up, needing a drink. "I do not recommend that in the middle of a damn snow storm."

"Whoa, not that one." Dean rescued the bottle from Bobby before he could drink and twisted the cap on tightly. "Sam, uh…he doctored this one." He shook his head and gave a pained smile. "Bitch made sure I took my damn pain meds."

Bobby snorted a soft laugh and suffered for the missing Winchester. "That's our boy. Alright." He opened his bag and took out a roll of maps. "You got coffee in this place at least?"

"Yeah. Kitchen." Dean led him out to the kitchen and poured a mug from the pot, handing it to him.

"How you feelin'?" Bobby asked. He hadn't missed the stiff way Dean was holding himself or the way he kept his right hand curled over the left side of his stomach. "Sam said the Nokken had a go at ya'."

"It's fine." Dean waved a hand dismissively. "What have you got?" There'd be time enough to worry about his own injuries once they had Sam back.

Bobby scowled but nodded. "Alright. You're sure it's that Tim son of a bitch who has him?" Dean nodded grimly. "Well, I figure he's gonna want somewhere secluded, secure. Somewhere he can hide out and not get noticed. I, uh, I did some askin' around. His face ain't exactly family friendly anymore."

"What's that mean?" Dean bent over the maps, looking at each area Bobby had circled in red.

"When you boys burned those bodies, the Strangler's victims? Yeah, well, Tim, the idiot, didn't exactly wake up in time. He got burned…bad." Bobby ran a hand through his hair under his cap and sighed. "Accordin' to what they told me, whole right side of his body's pretty Freddy Kreuger. He wouldn't wanna be seen. Guaranteed." Bobby saw Dean's shoulders stiffen. "Dean?"

"Oh, God…Bobby." Dean pulled the map closer and pointed to a small red circle at the lighthouse. "Why'd you circle this? Bobby, why?"

"There's a….cave system or something under this place." Bobby raised his brows at the intent look on Dean's face.

"Bobby, I heard him. I thought…" Dean paced away and kicked a chair across the room then whirled back. "I friggin' heard Sam's voice! I thought it was in my damn head. He's under us! Son of a bitch!" He grabbed his jacket and pulled it on. "Come on! How the hell do we get down there?"

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Sam gasped awake as freezing water ran down his face. Tim's vice-like hand was on his jaw again, lifting his head and glaring up at him. He'd passed out several times and each time Tim would wake him.

"This is no fun if you're not awake for it, Sam." Tim growled at him. He punched Sam in the stomach over a cross-shaped pattern of burns and smiled at the shout of pain. He watched Sam gasping for breath with the agony on his face and felt a moment of guilt, no more than a twinge, quickly squashed. He was toying with him; little bits of damage here and there. He would spend days disfiguring the man and making him regret the deaths of Tim's friends, fellow Hunters who would be alive if not for the freak with the demon blood. Tim growled and landed another punch to Sam's head, grinning at the spray of blood that hit the wall beside him.

"Gonna kill you," Sam managed between clenched teeth.

Tim laughed and patted the side of Sam's face. "Don't think so, but, yeah, you're gonna want to real bad." He went back to the small brazier he had set up a few feet away and pulled out the iron file he had set on the coals to re-heat. Tim lifted the glowing red tool and went back to Sam. "All that pretty, perfect skin, Sam." He tsked, shaking his head and laid the file over his left collarbone.

Sam tried to jerk away from the hot metal and choked on a scream as the smell of his own cooking flesh rose to him. It made him gag, and he hoped if he threw up, Tim would be close enough to catch it, but Tim ripped the file away from his shoulder, a strip of charred flesh coming with it. "Fuck!" Sam yelled out as he collapsed forward and tried to get air into his starving lungs through a throat swollen from screaming.

Tim chuckled softly and dug his fingers into Sam's shaggy hair, using it to pull his head up again. "Bet your Daddy tried to get you to cut this mop off, didn't he?" Tim gave Sam's hair a vicious yank, making him yelp and met the fuming hazel eyes. "This is a liability, Sammy." He pulled Sam's head back by his hair, straining his neck in a long line and hovered the still red hot file over the jumping pulse there. "It's so tempting." Tim stared transfixed at Sam's pulse in his throat while the man shook in his grip. "I lay this right here…" He put the file closer until the skin beneath began to turn red just from the nearness. "Just for a few seconds and it burns right through your Carotid. You're dead in minutes."

"Then…do it; just…stop," Sam gasped, strangling in the unnatural position Tim held him.

"Too easy." Tim released Sam's head with a last, rough tug on his hair, slapping his head into the wall behind him and walked way for a moment to regain his composure.

Sam felt a laugh building in him through the fear. It struck him suddenly that he had survived demons and angels, Lucifer himself, and he didn't how many…centuries trapped in a cage in Hell, only to be undone now by one, simple, pissed-off human with a grudge. He chuckled and it turned into a gasping cough through his abused throat.

"Are you laughing?" Tim stared up at Sam in disbelief. It brought the rage swimming back full force, and he grabbed the torch up again. He strode to Sam and slammed it into his side, watching the flames lick up his skin as it darkened and began to bubble. He pulled it away the moment he earned his scream and grinned. "Better."

"Stop…God, stop," Sam begged. He couldn't stop himself. The pain was an immense thing that wouldn't let him catch his breath even when Tim wasn't hurting him.

"I want you to feel it, Sam. Every second. Every…torment as your flesh melts." Tim put the file against Sam's bicep, pulled it away, put it back again and repeated the process twice more before the metal had cooled too much. He tossed it away and studied the stripes of burned flesh with a critical eye. "Maybe I'll give you a tic-tac-toe board, huh? Make it useful." He watched Sam's eyes falling again as he reached the edge of consciousness and shook his head. "Nope. Awake, freak." Tim picked up the bucket of snow melt and sloshed more of it into Sam's face. He laughed as Sam spluttered and gasped awake under the frigid onslaught.

Tim fisted Sam's hair again and wrenched his head over so he could look him in the eye. "All here, are we? Still got a lot to do, Sam. I wanna make sure you don't miss anything."

"Get…off me." Sam gasped as his chest burned and froze and tried to get his legs under him to take some of the weight off his arms but they weren't cooperating. Tim released his head and stepped away. Sam sagged in the chains and shivered from the frigid water even as Tim came back with another torch. "No, don't."

"Beg all you want, Sam." Tim brought the torch up under his right wrist, letting the flames warm the metal holding Sam to the wall. He enjoyed every flinch, every scream he wrung out of him.

Sam gasped and threw his head back, biting his lip against the scream that bubbled up as the metal and the skin around it heated and burned. The icy water still ran down his bare chest even as the flame scorched his wrist. The combination snapped something inside him. Sam felt it like a rubber band stretched too tight, pulling and weakening. He'd felt it before and knew what was happening.

"No, stop. Tim…please, don't…" Sam sucked in a ragged breath and let it out in a long, anguish filled scream as he felt the metal of the manacle melting to the skin beneath it. The pain rode down on him and his voice broke off on a sob as his eyes rolled back in his head.

Tim chuckled and pulled the torch away, watching Sam, and then scowled. "You passing out on me again, Sam? We've talked about this." He set the torch aside and grabbed Sam's head by the hair, pulling it down. "What's wrong with you?" Sam was convulsing in the chains. His eyes were rolled up in his head as his whole body twitched and thrashed almost as though he were being electrocuted. Tim slapped Sam's face a couple times and it didn't stop. He reached for the torch and turned back, bringing the flame up along Sam's side.

"Not getting out of this that easy, freak." Tim glared up at his twitching body and shoved the torch right against his skin. "Come on!"

An inarticulate snarl of fury sounded behind Tim, and he spun in shock to find Dean Winchester in the entrance to the cave. A look of pure hatred and rage suffused his face, his green eyes burning with an ice-cold intensity that froze Tim to the very core of his being as he faced the unwavering gun in Dean's hand.

"Get. The. Hell. Away. From. My. Brother."

The torch dropped, forgotten, from Tim's hand to the damp stone floor, but he made no move to protect himself other than raising his hands in the air. He smiled at Dean, a grimace of distaste…of disrespect. "I surrender. You won't kill me, Dean. You're not a murdere…" Tim broke off mid-word as the report of gunfire filled the cave. He looked down, stunned to see blood pouring from a hole in his chest over his heart. He looked back up at Dean and slowly toppled forward as the world went dark.

"Sammy!" Dean sprinted the length of the cave as Sam went still and grabbed his face, tipping it up. "God, Sam?" There were burns on his arms and torso, blood fresh and old on his face, and his wrists were torn up from the manacles and burned from the fire. The horror of what his brother had endured for hours chilled him to the bone, just as the scream that had echoed into the tunnel moments before had stabbed his heart with fear. He cradled Sam's face in his hands, feeling like a supplicant begging forgiveness for failing him.

Bobby ran in behind him and spared only a glance for the dead man on the floor. "How is he? He alright?" The smell of roasted flesh filled the small cavern and turned Bobby's stomach. He put a tentative hand over Sam's shoulder and felt tears well in his eyes. "How long did he have him?"

"Too long. He's not breathing." Dean tilted Sam's face up and cursed. "Dammit! No. Get him down. We gotta get him down now!"

"What? What's wrong with him?" Bobby went to Sam's left arm, hissing out a breath at the burns and damage and pulled the bolt free. He caught Sam under the shoulder with a grunt of effort as he sagged. He had to swallow hard as some of the blistered skin on Sam's arm and side pulled and parted with his touch.

"It's the wall, Bobby." Dean said softly, trying to not to completely panic. The feel of the blistered, charred skin under his hands and the nauseating smell of his brother's burnt flesh sucked him into his mind for a moment, to a time when he'd been strapped to a rack and screaming as hot irons were driven into him and the smell of his own skin cooking filled his senses. He sobbed in a breath and pushed that horror away. He didn't have time for it, not now.

"This like the last time?" Bobby took all of Sam's weight while Dean freed his other arm. He put a hand to Sam's neck and sighed; he wasn't breathing yet but his heart was still beating.

Dean nodded and caught his brother as he fell. He didn't have time to worry about the wounds. Dean tipped Sam over a shoulder and headed for the entrance. "Gotta cool these burns now." He panted as they ran along the tunnel. In his head was a silent mantra of 'don't die. Don't leave me. Don't die,' as he ran.

Bobby pulled his flashlight back out and clicked it on, lighting the way for Dean as they ran. The tunnel was short and let out just a hundred yards from the lighthouse in the side of the cliff. He steadied Sam as Dean stopped and lowered his brother to the snow covered ground.

"Snow, get the snow on the burns." Dean grabbed a handful and packed it over Sam's right wrist. He saw Bobby taking care of the rest and bent to his brother, taking Sam's face in his hands again. "Come on, dammit. Sam, you gotta breathe now. Breathe!"

"Come on, son," Bobby begged as he packed more snow on the burns across Sam's stomach. Fear gripped his heart that this time they wouldn't be bringing him back, but even as he thought it, Sam's back arched and he gasped in a long, agonized breath.

"Hey! Hey! I've gotcha." Dean kept a firm grip on his face as Sam's eyes flew open and he wheezed air in and out before finally focusing glazed eyes on him. Dean smiled and swallowed hard, not allowing himself the luxury of the tears he felt pressing behind his eyes. "Like makin' me sweat, huh kiddo?"

"Dean," Sam's voice was ragged from screaming, and this one time he didn't care that, when he squeezed his eyes closed against the pain, tears rolled out and down the sides of his face.

"Easy, son." Bobby put a shaking hand on Sam's shoulders, one of the few areas not burned or beaten. "Dean, we need to get him up to the lighthouse, get him warm."

Dean nodded. "Sam?" His brother gave him a stiff nod and Dean smiled. "Ok, going up." He moved his hands under Sam's shoulders and pulled gently until he was sitting, leaning against Dean's shoulder and panting through the pain. "Easy."

Sam was sinking under the weight of the agony in his body and the memories that had swarmed into his mind; memories of ice and fire, of being flayed alive and worse. He had gained months of memories and they were drowning him. He brought one hand up and fisted it in his brother's jacket, needing the contact to anchor him. "Dean."

"Right here, little brother." Dean pulled him in to protect his bare upper body from the wind and blowing snow. Sam was quaking under his arm, and he was sure it wasn't all from the cold.

"T…Tim?" Sam asked and looked up, managing a wavery smile of gratitude as Bobby pulled off his coat and laid it over his shoulders.

"Not gonna be botherin' you or anyone ever again," Bobby said firmly and met his eyes so he'd know he meant it.

Sam nodded and let his head drop to Dean's chest. "Ok."

"These stairs kinda suck, dude," Dean said into the top of Sam's head. "Let us do the work, ok?"

Sam nodded. He sucked in a breath as they lifted him to his feet and it was a fight to not pass out right there as the burns pulled painfully. It was a long moment before he realized they were talking to him, that he had his head planted in his brother's neck and that Bobby's hand was a warm, comforting weight on the back of his neck. "Sorry." Sam panted.

"Don't you worry about that, son," Bobby said gruffly. He slid carefully under Sam's left arm, doing his best to avoid the multitude of injuries as Dean did the same on the other side. The stairs cut into the cliff were narrow and slick with snow. There was only just enough room for the three of them to climb them side by side with Sam gasping and shaking between them.

Bobby caught Dean's eyes and smiled grimly. "I'll go back and, uh…clean up the mess after we get him topside."

Dean nodded. "Thanks, Bobby." He felt no remorse about having shot Tim dead and, from the look on Bobby's face, he wasn't going to get any recriminations there either. One look at his brother strung up on the wall had been enough for Dean. He made the mistake once of not finishing the son of a bitch, and now Sam was paying for that oversight.

They were mostly carrying Sam between them by the time they reached the keeper's house and staggered through the door. "Couch or bed?" Bobby asked as he kicked the door closed behind him.

"Bed." Dean decided. "Be more comfortable there." Sam roused enough to sit himself down and then drifted back out again as they laid him back. Dean stood and scrubbed both hands over his face. "Guess we know who was setting the damn fires now. Bastard was screwing with Sam, trying to scare him."

"Might wanna consider a hospital, Dean," Bobby suggested and raised a brow when Dean glared at him.

"We can handle it, Bobby." Dean looked down at his brother's bloody face. "Pretty sure he'd throw a fit if we try to take him."

Bobby smirked and sighed. "Alright. First aid kit?"

"In the living room." Dean sat on the bed beside his brother and pushed the sides of Bobby's jacket off of him. The burns looked even more painful in the artificial light from the lamp. "I'm sorry, Sam. I should have ganked that bastard the first time. This is on me." He startled as a hand slapped up the back of his head.

"Boy, knock it off," Bobby growled and handed the kit to Dean. "You know as well I do all the blame for this is sitting with that dead asshole down there. Don't borrow guilt."

A soft laugh drew Dean's gaze back to the bed and the small smile on Sam's face. "Oh you wait 'til now to wake up?"

Sam opened his heavy eyes and nodded. "S'worth it." His smile turned into a grimace of pain quickly.

"Ok. Hey, Bobby? Grab that bottle of whiskey in the living room," Dean told him with a smirk and started unpacking the first aid kit.

Bobby snorted. "Right. I'll round up some towels and ice while I'm at it."

Dean watched him go and put a hand on Sam's neck. "You alright?" Sam gave him a disgusted look, even through the pain, and Dean chuckled. "Right, other than being spit barbecued."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Just…hurts like hell." He looked down at Dean's chest and took hold of his shirt as concern darkened his face. "You're bleeding."

"Dude, that's your blood," Dean pulled his hand away, but Sam was persistent and tugged his shirt up.

"You popped some of your stitches." Sam groaned and let his arm fall back to the bed, spent. He managed to raise his head when Bobby came back in. "He popped stitches, Bobby. Fix him."

"Traitor!" Dean raised a hand over Sam's head and rolled his eyes. "Soon as you're in one piece again, I'm kickin' your ass."

"I knew he was hidin' something," Bobby chuckled as he came to sit on Sam's other side. He set a bucket of ice water and a stack of towels on the bedside table and pulled the whiskey bottle out from under his arm. "Medicinal. Doctor's orders." Bobby uncapped the bottle while Dean raised Sam's head again. "Don't argue, son."

Sam shook his head and took a healthy swallow and then another when Bobby kept the bottle there. "Wasn't gonna." He was breathing heavily and closed his eyes as Dean set his head back. "Hurts too damn much."

"Yeah, well…this is gonna hurt more." Dean picked up Sam's left arm and set it across his knees so he could work on his wrist. The flesh was torn from the manacle and singed from the flames. He sighed and dug into the first aid kit, taking out the pill bottle. "You wanna be out for as much of this as you can."

"I'm ok. I can handle it," Sam argued but Dean ignored him and shook out two pills. They were heavy grade pain killers and guaranteed to put him out combined with the spiked whiskey.

"Just…don't argue this time." Dean handed them to him and nodded to Bobby before lifting Sam's head again. He looked at the rebellion on Sam's face and hit below the belt. "Make it easier on me, man, ok?"

Sam wilted in the face of Dean's concern and relented. He took the pills and another drink from the bottle. Causing him pain was never something Dean did easily, even to save him. If he could lessen that burden for his big brother, he would. "Don't forget…the Nokken's still after…after us." The pills and the whiskey were hitting him quickly and his head swam. He closed his eyes as the bed spun beneath him.

"He's gonna lose some skin here." Bobby commented, looking at the frightening burn on Sam's right side. He soaked a towel in the ice water and spread it over his chest and dunked another. He wrung it out and handed it to Dean. "Get that arm."

"Yeah, I got it." Dean smoothed the towel over his brother's arm from shoulder to wrist, grimacing as Sam whimpered in his half sleep and twitched. The cold towels did their job and soothed some of the burn, easing the pain lines from Sam's face. "Think his wrists are gonna be the worst of it."

Bobby nodded and bent over Sam's right wrist. He had a sudden urge to go back down to the cave and put a few more rounds in the dead man just for good measure. "Don't know about that wrist but the manacle on this one…his skin was stuck to it in a few places."

"He heated the metal. Hurts more, does less damage," Dean said softly and shivered as a memory of his time in Hell floated up to him. He shook his head to banish it and focused on the wrist across his knees.

Bobby looked between his two boys and suffered a little for them; Dean who spent every day pretending he was alright with the Hell in his head, and Sam who spent every day hoping the Hell in his head wouldn't crush him into nothing. He took Dean's shoulder for just a moment, not looking at him, and gave it a squeeze before he went back to Sam's wrist. "He'll be fine," Bobby told him softly.

Dean fought the press of tears behind his eyes and nodded. "Yeah, he will."

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Bobby slapped Dean's hand away again with a smirk. "Would you stop whinin' and lemme finish this?"

"I'm not… I don't whine! Why's everyone keep saying that?" Dean groused and tried not to twitch while Bobby put the last new stitch in the slice on his stomach.

"'Cause you whine." Bobby chuckled and leaned back. "There. Clean it and try not to pop any more of 'em."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean rolled his eyes and took the alcohol pad Bobby handed him, laying it over the wound with a grimace. He looked over at Sam worriedly, but he still slept, either from exhaustion, the pain meds, or both. It had been over an hour since they'd finished cleaning him up. His arms and chest were a patchwork of bandages; left loose so they could keep an eye on the burns beneath.

"I'm gonna go…clean up the mess." Bobby stood and stretched. "Oh!" He dug around his pocket and came out with a cross, tossing it to Dean. "Here. Steel cross. Grabbed that when I left. Now all we need's a piece of the Nokken."

"Sam got it," Dean said and stood up gingerly from the bed. "After big ugly jumped me in the shed." There was a sudden jangle of alarms and beeps from the kitchen. "What the hell?" Dean jogged down the hall with Bobby on his heels and stopped to stare at the computer system for the lighthouse.

"One side." Bobby gave Dean a nudge and sat down, knowing he had more chance of figuring it out with Sam asleep than Dean did. He studied the screens and the alerts now scrolling up the screen.

"What? We gonna fall into the lake or something?" Dean asked, leaning over Bobby's shoulder to get a better look at the screens.

"If I'm readin' this right, there's a hell of a snow storm coming down off Canada right at us." Bobby pulled the keyboard over and started typing.

Dean watched and squinted at the screen as a weather map pulled up, showing a large, white blob shifting south across the lake right at them. "Awesome."

Bobby scowled and pointed several red lines of text on the screen. "Pretty sure that means the light's not workin' up there."

"Aw, come on!" Dean threw his arms up in exasperation.

Bobby sat back and chuckled, looking up at him. "Looks like you're goin' up the tower, Ace."

Dean snarled at him and leaned back against the counter with a thump. He looked down the hall to the bedroom and threw an arm out toward it and his brother. "He's unconscious on purpose. I know it."

Bobby laughed and stood, slapping his shoulder. "I'm gonna go light up our friend before that crap gets here." He waved a hand at the screen. "Got maybe an hour, probably less. Best get to it, son."

Dean watched him leave and groaned. He turned and set the steel cross on the counter beside the jar with the piece of the Nokken. "This day just gets better and better." He went back to the bedroom and sat beside Sam, brushing the unruly dark hair off his brother's forehead. "Need a haircut there, Shaggy," He whispered. Sam moaned softly, turning his head into the touch but didn't rouse. Dean smirked. "You're such a girl. Gotta go upstairs and fix the damn light, which I am _not_ happy about. Anytime you wanna wake up and do this for me…" He trailed off and waited but Sam made no sign of waking. Dean shook his head. "Don't go anywhere."

Dean checked all the salt lines in the keeper's house and the protective symbols he'd painted around every door and window, making sure that Sam would be safe while he was up in the lighthouse. He procrastinated as long as he could and finally, stood at the bottom of the curved stair. He groaned and started up, holding his side against the movement and pull of the stitches.

"This job sucks," Dean growled as he reached the top and opened the door to the lamp room. He stepped inside and spent a minute just looking out the floor to ceiling windows at the vista of the lake. He knew the opposite shore was out there, but it was obscured by the wall of white coming at them over the slate grey waters. The perspective made Dean's stomach roll, and he quickly turned his attention to the lamp instead.

"Ok. No reason to go out there. I'm good." Dean focused on figuring out how to remove the housing holding the lens in place and ignored the too wide open view behind him. "Ok, tools. Tools." He looked around the floor and remembered there was a store room just below him. He climbed off the lamp and went back down the stairs, unaware of the tendril of glistening black seaweed that curled over the outer rail of the balcony as the first, fat flakes ahead of the storm hit the tower.

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_To Be Continued… _


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** Beast of Beaver Bay

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A lighthouse on a cliff, mysterious deaths and random fires…nothing is ever easy for a Winchester. Post 6x16 "And then there were none" tagged to previous story "What Evil Lurks" angst/hurt/caring/awesome!sam/dean

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D – Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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"_This job sucks," Dean growled as he reached the top and opened the door to the lamp room. He stepped inside and spent a minute just looking out the floor to ceiling windows at the vista of the lake. He knew the opposite shore was out there but it was obscured by the wall of white coming at them over the slate grey waters. The perspective made Dean's stomach roll and he quickly turned his attention to the lamp instead. _

"_Ok. No reason to go out there. I'm good." Dean focused on figuring out how to remove the housing holding the lens in place and ignored the too wide open view behind him. "Ok, tools. Tools." He looked around the floor and remembered there was a storm room just below him. He climbed off the lamp and went back down the stairs, unaware of the tendril of glistening black seaweed that curled over the outer rail of the balcony as the first, fat snowflakes ahead of the storm hit the tower._

_**CHAPTER 8**_

Bobby slid the last few steps down to the cave entrance, losing his bag off his shoulder. It came to rest against an outcropping of rock, and he blew out a breath in relief. "I'm too old for this shit," he grumbled and recovered his bag, putting it over his shoulder and took out his flashlight. He studiously looked away from the pink clumps of snow he knew were dyed with Sam's blood from earlier as he entered the tunnel and turned on his light. The small cavern was just as they'd left it with Tim's body still lying face-down on the stone floor. The manacles hung empty from the wall, and the remaining torches guttered but still burned, lending a warm glow to the chamber.

"Got better than you deserve, you bastard." Bobby glared down at the body and kicked him over with a boot in his shoulder. Tim's sightless eyes stared up from his ruined face. Bobby glanced around the cave and spotted a pile of clothes off to the side. He went and knelt beside them, growling a curse as he saw they were Sam's jacket and his shirts. The shirts were ruined, obviously having been cut from him and it explained the few shallow slices he'd found along Sam's arms and shoulders. He took Sam's jacket and folded it up, shoving it into his bag. That, at least, he could return. He stood and pulled a canister of gasoline from the bag, turning back to Tim.

"Not that you deserve a Hunter's funeral." Bobby opened the canister and poured it out over Tim's body. "Don't want your sorry ass comin' back later to haunt my boys." He pulled a pack of matches from his pocket, lit them, and tossed them on the corpse. "Roast in hell." The flames burst into life and leapt upward toward the ceiling. Bobby bent and took Sam's shirts, tossing them on the fire as well, and grabbed his bag, heading for the tunnel before the smoke filled the cave. He went quickly down the tunnel, emerging into the waning daylight again and blinked as heavy snowflakes hit his face. He brushed them off and cocked his head to the side, hearing a strange dragging sound.

"What the…?" Bobby turned to look up at the cliff and the lighthouse above and gaped. A large mass of blackened seaweed was oozing up the cliff side and then latched on to the wall of the lighthouse, heading for the lamp room. "Balls!" The Nokken was on the attack, and Dean was up there on his own. Bobby broke into a run, taking the slick stairs as quickly as he dared. He fumbled his phone from his pocket and cursed, seeing he had no service. He looked back up and saw the Nokken had reached the edge of the lamp room balcony. It spurred him to climb faster.

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Sam groaned softly as he woke and blinked up into the dimly lit room. Something had woken him. He shifted his arms, grimacing, and moaned softly at the pain. "Crap," he breathed softly. "Dean?" Sam called and coughed. His voice barely rose above a whisper. He raised one hand slowly to rub at his sore throat, closed his eyes and shuddered as the memory of his own screams echoing in the cave washed through him.

He pushed himself up on the bed, holding his breath against the pain from the burns and ended up hunched over himself panting for air. A soft scraping sound drew his attention. Sam turned his head up to the window behind him and gasped as something huge and dark went over the window and up, out of sight.

"The Nokken!" Sam rolled off the bed and fell to his knees as his legs went out from under him. "Shit." He got back to his feet as fast as he could and staggered across the room. Sam used the wall to keep himself up as he went down the hall into the kitchen and found it empty. "Dean? Bobby?" He couldn't see or hear anyone. The jar with the piece of the Nokken still sat on the counter and a steel cross lay beside it. A series of beeps drew him over to the lighthouse monitors and he frowned. A large snow storm was almost on top of them and a warning message flashed on screen, letting him know the light was malfunctioning. He knew, with sudden surety, where they were; Dean and Bobby were in the lamp room, and the Nokken was climbing up toward them.

"Dammit!" Sam cursed and stood for a moment in indecision. He made up his mind and went back to the counter. He took the jar and the cross and carried them over to the table and his laptop. He opened it to Bobby's email and the words that needed to be spoken to bind the Nokken to the cross. "Ok. I can do this."

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Dean found a toolbox just inside the store room door and jogged back up the stairs. He climbed stiffly back onto the lamp assembly and took out a screwdriver, bending to the housing over the lens, thankful the view out the windows was too his back. The bruising on his back and chest protested being bent over but he ignored that; the sooner he got the stupid lamp working, the sooner he could get back to solid ground. He popped out one screw and set it aside, bent to the next and frowned as the light coming from behind him suddenly dimmed.

"Aw, what the hell?" Dean turned and gasped. A seething black mass of writhing seaweed covered the windows of the lamp room. As he watched, the glass cracked in a spiderweb pattern from the center of the window. "Oh, not good."

Dean scrambled off the lamp to the floor and dropped into a crouch as the window shattered. Glass rained into the lamp room as he huddled, covering his head with a low groan as the muscles and wounds he already had were aggravated. He brought his head up and reared back as a tendril of seaweed thrust inside the small room. Snow swirled in through the broken window, blurring his eyes and then stopped as the creature filled the empty space.

"I am getting…real tired of you!" Dean staggered back into the lamp and groaned, realizing the closest thing to a weapon he had on him was the screwdriver in his hand. "Awesome." He was DEFINITELY off his game after everything…wandering around with no gun and a monster still around!

The Nokken oozed in through the broken window, yellow eyes rolling up to glare into the dimly lit room. It hissed and growled as seaweed oozed out to crawl across the floor, windows, and roof toward its prey. Dean stabbed the screwdriver down into a tendril that came too close, grinning when the creature howled and withdrew it, the grin turning into a scowl when he realized it was taking the screwdriver with it.

"Aw, come on!" Dean yelled, losing his only weapon. He made a dodge for the stairs. The Nokken beat him to it, throwing ropes of itself in Dean's path and forcing him back. Dean eased around the walls and glared back at the thing. "You're playing me, aren't you?" He asked it. He picked up a flashlight from the windowsill and threw it at the Nokken. "Pissed you off, didn't we?" Inwardly, he tried to think of some way to escape the lamp room, or at least get access to a weapon, before he ended up lunch. He ducked another swipe of seaweed, stumbling to the side with a hiss of pain. He looked behind him through the glass and swallowed hard at the view; nothing but a hundred feet of air down to the lake.

The Nokken moved across the room, overtaking the lamp in its center and forcing Dean to the open window as the snow once more drifted into the lamp room. "No way, asshole. I am NOT going out there." Dean shouted at it, very much afraid that the balcony was now his only escape.

"Dean!" Sam's voice carried up the stairs behind the creature and Dean groaned.

"No! Sam, go back!" Dean shouted. He didn't want his already-injured brother stumbling into an attack. He looked behind him again and started as he saw Bobby below through the blowing snow, running full out toward the lighthouse. So help was coming but not in time, not for him anyway. "Sam, get the hell out of here!"

"Shut up, Dean!" Sam yelled and emerged at the top of the stairs. The sight that met him took away what little breath he had after his climb. Dean was backed against the far side of the lighthouse with the creature between them and filling most of the available space. Sam clutched the steel cross with its piece of Nokken to his chest and dragged himself the last few steps up. "Dean!" Sam held up the cross and waited for Dean to see it, eyes widening. "Take it!" Sam pulled his arm back, ignoring the pain and threw the charm up and over the creature. He grinned as Dean plucked it out of the air.

The Nokken, perhaps sensing that it was in mortal danger, chose that moment to lunge for Dean. It slammed into him and sent him tumbling through the glassless window and out over the edge of the balcony.

"DEAN!" Sam yelled in horror as he watched his brother drop from sight over the rail. Sam, forgetting for a moment the agony of his wounds and his own weakness, ducked beneath the swinging tendrils of the Nokken and around the other side of the room. He shoved open the door and slid out onto the balcony. "Dean!" Sam's voice sounded broken as he looked down over the edge, expecting to see nothing and gasped in a haggard breath when he found him. Dean hung by one arm from the bottom of the walkway. His fingers were slipping on the snow-slick metal as he watched, and Dean looked up to him with resignation in his eyes.

"No. NO you don't!" Sam dove, avoiding a swipe from the Nokken, and wrapped his hand around Dean's wrist just as he lost his grip. The pain as his bare chest slammed into the deck and as Dean's hand closed around his mangled wrist drove black spots across his vision. Sam panted for breath and fought it, refusing to pass out and let his brother fall to his death.

Dean stared past his feet at the water far below and felt his insides quake as his stomach rolled, and he slammed his eyes shut on the view. The feel of Sam's hand shaking as it held his forearm made him look up at the desperation on Sam's face. "Sam! Sam, let go already!" Dean shouted. He could only watch the agony crawl across Sam's face as he paled, all the blood rushing from his face. He knew it was a miracle Sam was even still conscious, and the Nokken was still there. Dean could see whips of seaweed slapping out above them, and a moment later, the bulk of the creature appeared, bending over Sam's unprotected back.

"Dean…throw it," Sam said through clenched teeth, hanging on by the slimmest thread. "Now."

"Shit." Dean looked down and realized he was still holding the charm. He looked back up as the Nokken's yellow eyes appeared over the rail and grinned. He stretched his arm out and let the steel cross fall. The Nokken screamed in fear or rage or both, Dean didn't care. It seemed to watch the little charm fall away and then threw itself from the balcony to tumble past Dean where he swung from his brother's grip. He watched it fall and jerked in surprise as it suddenly exploded in a shower of seaweed in mid-air. "Whoa."

"Dean," Sam whispered, ducking his head from the blowing snow and the frigid cold that ate into his bare chest where it rested on the iron deck. "I c-can't…pull you up. S-sorry." Tears spilled from his eyes, and this time they were from a pain far deeper than his physical injuries as he looked down at his brother in desperation.

"It's ok, Sammy," Dean told him. "It's okay. Just let…"

Bobby's head suddenly appeared over the rail, eyes wide in shock. "Dean! Hang on, son!"

"Oh, thank God," Dean breathed and closed his eyes in relief.

"Gimme your arm." Bobby lay down beside Sam and reached his own arm over the side. Sam's face was ghostly white, eyes closed tight and lines of pain etched across it. "Hurry up."

Dean thrust his free arm up, throwing his whole body into it and clasped his hand around Bobby's. "Ok. Go!"

"Sam? It's ok, son. I've got him." Bobby grunted with Dean's weight but Sam made no move that he'd heard. "Sam." Bobby nudged his hip with his leg. "Sam, you can let go now. I've got him."

Sam opened his eyes in a daze, so focused on not losing his grip he'd heard little else. He looked over in surprise to find Bobby laid out next to him. He let his eyes drift down and saw that Dean's other arm was firmly in Bobby's grip. He slowly loosed his hold on Dean and then rolled to his back while Bobby pulled his brother up. He let the falling snow collect on his face with his eyes shut and simply didn't have the energy to move again, not even feeling it as the cold bit into his back.

Bobby groaned with effort, pulling until Dean got a hold on the bottom of the deck and was able to swing his legs up to the side. "Almost…damn you need…a diet."

"Shut up," Dean growled as he rolled on to the platform finally and took a moment to catch his breath before… "Sam." He crawled over Bobby to get to his brother and knelt above him. "Sammy?" Dean brushed snow from Sam's face.

"Damn," Bobby said as he picked up the hand Sam had held onto Dean with. The bandage around his wrist was bloody and the skin beneath torn open anew.

Dean glanced over and grimaced then bent back to him. "Hey, Sammy."

"M'ok," Sam whispered but didn't open his eyes. He had nothing left and would have been content to lay right there in the snow and fall asleep…except someone was tugging on his shoulders and making him sit up. "S…stop."

"No can do, tiger." Dean pulled Sam in against his chest and, with Bobby's help, got him to his feet…or at least standing held up between them. "How the hell are we gonna get him down those narrow stairs? Can't put him over a shoulder, not with those burns." He gestured to the bandages on Sam's chest and stomach.

Bobby sighed and moved away, letting Dean take all of his brother's weight. "I'll get his legs."

Together they picked Sam up between them and went back into the now freezing lamp room with snow and wind whipping through it from the storm. The trek down the tight, spiral stairs was a litany of curses interspersed with Sam's quiet moans and Dean's soft voice reassuring him. As they finally eased Sam back onto his bed, he was reduced to choked whimpers and did his best to curl in on himself around the burns, and his wrists that felt like they were on fire once more.

"Ok, Sammy." Dean smoothed snow and sweat-soaked hair from his brother's forehead while Bobby tugged the blanket out from under him and draped it over the top of him.

"Gimme the bucket. I'll add some more ice." Bobby took it when Dean handed it to him. "Cool those burns down again so he can get some sleep."

"Thanks, Bobby." Dean sat beside Sam on the bed and looked down at him.

"Stop…staring. S'creepy."

Sam's soft voice startled Dean and he grinned sheepishly. "Can't help it, you're funny lookin'." He found an unmarred spot on Sam's shoulder and gripped it gently. "How bad is it really, Sam? Don't lie to me."

Sam blew out a soft breath and shook his head. "Bad."

Dean nodded and sighed, still watching his closed eyes. "How much did you get back in there?" He asked gently, wondering how much of Hell had leaked through this time and felt Sam jerk under his hand and tightened his grip on his shoulder. "It's alright. You're here."

"I know. I…" Sam trailed off and then cracked his eyes open just enough to look at the denim-clad knee beside his face. "I'm alright. It was…I can handle it."

"Hey. Here." Bobby came back in and handed the bucket to Dean before sitting carefully against Sam's back. "Soak one of those towels for me? Hey, Sam. Gotta get you on your back again, son."

Sam groaned but nodded. He started to shift on his own and sighed in relief as hands took careful hold and helped him settle on his back against the pillows. "Thanks," He said breathlessly. The painkillers they had given him earlier were still in his system and helped him suffer through the bandages being removed stoically. He shuddered in reaction as the first cold towel was laid over his stomach and when another joined it covering the burns on his chest.

"Easy, Sam." Dean slid a hand behind his neck and nodded as Bobby picked up his brother's newly mangled left wrist to care for it. Sam flinched hard at the first touch of the towel. "Ok, take it easy."

Sam nodded and did his best to focus on the feel of Dean's hand squeezing the back of his neck as a distraction over the well-intentioned agony of Bobby dealing with his wrist.

Bobby wrapped a fresh bandage around the wrist as gently as he could, wincing with each flinch he felt in Sam's arm. He looked up to Dean's worry-lined face and then scowled as his eyes dropped. "Dammit, Dean. Didn't I tell you not to pop those stitches again?"

"Huh?" Dean looked down in surprise and saw fresh spots of blood on his shirt. Only then did he feel the persistent ache from the reopened slash. He rolled his eyes. "Go talk to the Nokken! It's not like I threw _myself _off the damn lighthouse."

Bobby snorted a soft laugh as he laid Sam's arm back on the bed. "Your turn, genius."

"Bobby, I'm good. Sam…" Dean trailed off and his eyes widened. "Oh, crap."

"What?" Bobby frowned at the strange look on his face. "Dean, what?"

"Oh, man. What the hell are we gonna tell the cops?" Dean ran his free hand through his hair in exasperation. "One of the cops, uh…Travers, he found me right after the Nokken…when Sam was taken. Shit."

"So that's where the car is?" Bobby nodded and sighed. "Alright." He stood and reached over to clasp Dean's shoulder. "I'll suit up and fix it."

"Dude, Travers isn't gonna be put off so easy." Dean shook his head. "He already helped us out once. He's gonna want to see for himself."

Bobby ran a hand under his ballcap and sighed. "Alright, let's go with witness protection. That way you don't have to tell him crap and we can bug out of here. I'll go put on my monkey suit."

Dean nodded and smirked as Bobby left, knowing he enjoyed dressing up as much as Dean did…which was not at all. "Hey! Don't forget my baby!" He grinned at Bobby's laugh and turned back to his brother. He grimaced, looking at him. "How the hell are we gonna move you out of here like this, dude?" Dean asked softly, taking in the bandages, towel covered burns and the fever he could see beginning to take hold. "Dammit." He put a hand to his brother's shoulder and his frown deepened. He could almost feel the heat coming off of him and that wasn't going to make dealing with the burns any easier.

Bobby came back in the room, pulling his suit jacket straight. "How's he doin'?"

Dean shook his head. "Bobby, how are we gonna put him in the car like this?" Sam moaned softly, his head tossing on the pillow toward the sound of Dean's voice as his whole body seemed to shudder. "He's in too much pain. He's one step away from going into shock as it is."

Bobby leaned against the open door and nodded sadly. "It's gonna be bad, Dean. We'll just…we'll only go far enough to get off the radar here and find somewhere 'til he's well enough to get to my place."

Dean gently lifted the edge of the damp towel covering Sam's chest and stared at the sickening burn there. He shook his head. "No. I'm not doin' this to him." He laid the towel back and strode out of the room past Bobby into the kitchen.

"Boy, what are you thinkin'?" Bobby followed him and his brows rose as Dean turned with his phone.

Dean dialed and put the phone to his ear. "That maybe Heaven owes us one or two, and I'm collecting. Cas? We need you. Sam needs you, so I don't care what kinda crap you got goin' on right now. You get here." He paused and nodded. "Beaver Bay Michigan. We're in the Split Rock Lighthouse on…" He cut off as the soft sound of wings filled the kitchen and then there he was, standing in front of Dean with his own phone still held to his ear and rumpled, tan raincoat shifting slightly as if from a breeze.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel greeted and watched Dean's eyes roll up in exasperation.

"Personal space, Cas. We've been over this." Dean put his phone away and nodded to the angel who was mere inches from him.

"It's a very small kitchen." Castiel pocketed his own phone and took a step back, looking around. "Bobby." He nodded. "What is wrong with Sam? If it's something to do with the wall in his mind…I can't fix that, Dean."

"It's not the wall. Come on." Dean took his shoulder and pulled him around, leading him down the hall to the bedroom. "Need a little angelic healing, Cas."

Castiel rounded the bed and frowned as he saw the youngest Winchester. "What has happened to him?" He sat carefully on the side of the bed and gently lifted away the towel on Sam's chest, revealing a pattern of blackened burns and bruising. "There is more of this?"

Dean nodded. He went to the other side of the bed and began peeling the other towels away from Sam's skin. "Dead man with an axe to grind got a hold of him. I couldn't…it took too long to find him." Dean said softly.

Castiel put a hand to the side of Sam's face, feeling the fever burning there and closed his eyes. The pain that washed through him as he touched Sam's mind was agonizing and forced a sympathetic twitch of his shoulders. "He is very weak," Castiel whispered. He moved his other hand to hover over Sam's chest and the burns.

Dean watched the angel bend over his brother, his face intense with concentration and his brows drawn together in what looked almost like pain. "Cas?" He glanced over to Bobby and the older Hunter shrugged.

Castiel didn't answer. He couldn't. All his attention was focused on gathering up the threads of Sam's mind. He was worse off than Dean realized, slipping away quickly beneath the burden of agony and the fever sapping the last of his strength. Castiel took up each thought and held it tightly, soothing where he could, offering comfort to cover over the pain that consumed Sam as he slipped away. He needed him to be stronger before he healed him or the shock could finish what his injuries had already started.

He saw the wall Death had erected in his mind and, though curious, he shied away from it, leery of tampering with something that would further damage the already dying man. It was huge and dark in his thoughts, and the mental image showed Castiel fine cracks at its corners with flames and ice creeping out like a poison.

"It's taking too long," Dean said quietly, sensing something was seriously amiss. He hovered over the edge of the bed, wanting to touch Sam but afraid to interfere in whatever Castiel was doing. A soft, golden glow began beneath the hand the angel held over Sam's chest as Dean watched. He took a step back and felt Bobby's hand on his shoulder suddenly, squeezing in support. The glow spread and seemed to sink down into his brother's chest. Nothing happened for several moments beyond the glow rising from beneath his skin and Castiel's head bending until it nearly touch Sam's forehead. Then Sam's back arched off the bed as he gasped in a long, loud breath. The blackened patches of skin on his chest, stomach and arms began to glow and, as they watched, lightened quickly from black to brown and then miraculously to the pink of healthy skin.

"Sam?" Dean watched with Bobby holding him back as Castiel finally leaned away and opened his eyes. Sam's body went lax and fell back to the bed as Castiel removed his hands and stood slowly.

"He'll be fine now, Dean," Castiel told him and felt a small smile tug at his mouth as Dean sat and took Sam's face in his hands. "It's very fortunate you called me when you did."

Dean looked up at him as the implication of what the angel said sunk in. "But he…I didn't – but he's going to be all right?"

Castiel smiled gently and nodded.

"Sammy?" Dean believed his friend but he needed to hear it from Sam before it would sink in. Sam's brows drew down in a frown and slowly, his eyes fluttered open and Dean smiled. "Hey, tiger."

"Dean." Sam brought a hand up to rub his head and then stared in shock at the unblemished skin of his arm and wrist. "What…" He shivered in surprise, realizing the pain was gone, all of it.

"Hey, easy." Dean kept hold of his brother's head. "You alright? How do you feel?"

Sam looked up and his eyes widened to find Castiel standing over Dean's shoulder. The angel actually looked…tired. Yet, as Sam watched, the lines smoothed from Castiel's face to be replaced by the customary blank expression he was used to seeing.

"Hello, Sam."

"Cas." Sam nodded, understanding what had happened. "Healed me?"

Dean grinned. "Worked his mojo on you."

Sam pushed himself cautiously up, ignoring Dean's hands that slid from his head to his shoulders to help and sat against the headboard. He kept expecting a stab of pain, something to burn or take his breath away with the slightest movement and was surprised when it never came. He looked up to the angel and smiled. "Thanks, Cas. Really."

Bobby wiped a hand down his face and nodded, smiling through the welling of emotion choking his throat. "Nice job, Cas."

Castiel looked uncomfortable with the thanks and praise. "It was…nothing. I must go."

"Cas…" Dean turned and snorted as the angel vanished with the comforting fluttering sound. "We really gotta work on his people skills."

"Sam, you alright, son? Really?" Bobby moved to the other side of the bed and watched Sam raise his arms, peering along them and then down at his own chest as he ran a hand over where the vicious burns used to be.

"Yeah." Sam shook his head in wonder. "That was…weird." He smiled and looked up at Bobby. "How come you're in your suit?"

"Right!" Bobby slapped a hand to Sam's now healthy shoulder. "Gotta go do a little tap dance for the locals to get the car back and stop 'em searchin' before they find that asshole. Feed him or somethin' and Sam?" Bobby looked at him and nodded to his older brother. "Stitch that idjit back up, woudja?"

Sam chuckled at Dean's dirty look as Bobby laughed and left. "Get off already." He tossed the blanket back and swung his legs over the side of the bed and swayed for a second, clapping a hand around his head. "Whoa."

Dean put a steadying hand on his shoulder, frowning. "Hey, you ok?"

Sam nodded and gave a lopsided smile. "Just sat up too fast. I'm good." He slapped the mattress and stood. "Lay down. Let me see it."

"Dude, it's fine." Dean argue and snarled as Sam stopped him from getting up and shoved him to the bed.

"Then you won't mind me looking." Sam pulled the first aid kit off the nightstand and eyed him with a brow raised.

Dean rolled his eyes, chuckled and sat back against the headboard. "Fine. Pain in my ass, Sammy." He pulled his shirt up out of the way, resigned to being stitched up again and silently grateful that Sam was well enough to do it and give him his patented bitch face when he saw the newly torn stitches.

"Shut up and sit still." Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head with a grin as he bent to his brother's stomach with the little scissors.

"Crime scene techs better not have scratched my car," Dean said and flinched as Sam clipped the first torn stitch away. "Can't believe I just left her there." He shook his head at himself.

"How _did_ they get you to leave the Impala behind?" Sam asked and cut away two more stitches before putting the scissors down and pulling out the suture kit. He had trouble imagining anyone pulling Dean away from his baby so easily.

Dean looked down at the top of his brother's head and remembered those minutes after he'd found the empty car and Sam's blood, the terror at not knowing what had happened and the fog that had still held his mind from the Nokken's attack. He shuddered.

"Sorry." Sam stilled his hand, worried he was hurting him.

"Not you," Dean said softly and purposefully didn't meet the concern-filled hazel eyes that turned up to him. "I was kinda out of it at the time. It was our buddy, Officer Travers, from the beach."

Sam looked back down and frowned, having only a hazy memory of a cop being on the beach with them after his near-drowning. "I think…maybe, I remember him."

"Yeah, well, he kinda…made me leave." Dean shrugged.

"Wait." Sam looked up, fighting a smirk. "He _made_ you leave your car? Did he have a gun?"

"Shut up," Dean glared at him, embarrassed.

Sam chuckled and bent back down, putting in the last stitch. He poured a little antiseptic over the wound and taped a quick bandage over it before leaning back. "That's kind of…sweet."

"What?" Dean pulled his shirt back down and stood, feeling decidedly uncomfortable as Sam smiled up at him.

"You were so worried about me you actually left your _baby_ behind." Sam's smiled turned to a grin as Dean snarled. He got up, moving toward the door. "It's sweet."

"You remember when I said once you were healed up I was gonna kick your ass?" Dean took a step toward his little brother, cracking his knuckles.

Sam raised both hands with a laugh. "You don't want to ruin Castiel's hard work already, do you?"

Dean grinned dangerously, narrowing his eyes. "I promise not to leave a mark."

Sam watched him, his eyes widening as he recognized that look in his brother's eyes. "Oh, crap."

"Oh, yeah." Dean lunged and just missed as Sam pounded down the hall and out the side door into the snow. "Come here, bitch!" He ran out the door and grunted as a snowball took him in the side of the face. "Oh, little brother."

Sam was bent double laughing as Dean wiped snow from his head. He should have run or at least made an attempt to dodge, but he stood there and took it as Dean piled up a huge ball of snow and launched it at his face.

Dean grinned as Sam went to his ass with his face completely covered in white. He rubbed his hands together and knelt for more ammunition, grimacing slightly as his side pulled. "Payback's a bitch, Sammy!"

Above them on the balcony of the lighthouse, Castiel watched with a small smile for their moment of innocence after so much fear. He turned, tan coat flapping in the snowy wind, to look at the darkened lighthouse. He raised a hand with a knowing smirk and snapped his fingers. The lamp burst into life, a beacon swinging out to sea and the angel vanished as the light passed over him in a flash.

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_**The End.**_

**Author's Note:** Yes, I ended with a snowball fight. LOL I couldn't help myself. It just sort of evolved into that and once we got there, the boys decided we were doing it so…enjoy. :P


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